


Pathétique

by blue_pointer



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Political Animals
Genre: A Boy and His Robot, Abandonment Issues, Accidentally High, Action & Romance, Ana is onto you, Ana loves you Tony, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Awkward Conversations, Awkwardness, BAMF Ana Jarvis, BAMF Peggy Carter, Bad marriages, Beethoven, Birthday, Bucky as all the titans in Greek mythology, Canon Divergence - Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Cheesecake, Chopin - Freeform, Comfort Food, Crying, Day drinking, Dernier's sense of humor, Desperate times call for desperate measures, Double Agents, Drama, Drug Use, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Intimacy, Eventual Romance, Evil Plans, Explosions, First Kiss, Flashbacks, Flirting, Fluff, Gossip, Heartbreak, Holocaust, Home Alone, Homophobia, Howard Stark is a hoarder, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Howling Commandos - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, James "Rhodey" Rhodes is a Good Bro, Jarvis is literally the best, Just kidding Ana is actually the best, Liszt - Freeform, M/M, Marvel wlw, Memory Wipe, Midnight rendezvous, Motorcycle fetish, Music, Mythology References, Naive Steve Rogers, Nervousness, Partying, Peggy has a weakness for blondes, Piano, Poor Jim, Primal Scream - Freeform, Propositions, Protective Bucky Barnes, Quantum Leap - Freeform, Rachmaninov, Scott Bakula cover, Secret Date, Secret tunnel, Self-Sacrifice, Sex Fail, Stark drama, Steve's mad French skills, Stood Up, Strategy & Tactics, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Missions, Sunset Boulevard references, Surprise Reunion, Suspicious, Teacher-Student Relationship, The Great Gatsby References, The Howling Commandos go rogue, Three's Company references, Tish you spoke French, Tony is not a morning person, Tony singing, Tony's PhDs, Tortured Souls, Unrequited Lust, Winteriron Bang, anywhere you go let me go too, champagne and shared experiences, creative modes of transportation, faking your death, gershwin, gtfo, hidden identity, high society - Freeform, hot for teacher, mozart - Freeform, no one loves you like your mother, oops racism, regularly scheduled Stark family rows, roasting the English, sci-fi fanboys, something's off, surrogate parents, tesseract weapons, the music of my people, watch out for Edwin Jarvis, winteriron, with your mom, worried moms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-08-03 21:47:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 20,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16333832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_pointer/pseuds/blue_pointer
Summary: The Winter Soldier is in U.S. Hydra custody in 1991, and Alexander Pierce wants more from the Stark family than Howard's new super soldier serum. Knowing Tony's proclivities, T.J. Hammond seems like the perfect cover.This reverse bang fic was inspired by IndigoNight's amazing fanvid, which can be foundhere. Please go watch it many times.





	1. Happy Birthday to Me

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Pathétique - A Winteriron fanvideo](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/425180) by IndigoNight. 



> Pathétique - passionate and emotional, especially with feelings of pity, grief, and sorrow. 
> 
>    
> For those readers who are not music nerds, I have linked to the music in the story as it appears, or if you prefer to listen to it all at once, [here](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLpke0seXZF1sN7rrQOa4eptoZObLAKZN7) is the playlist on youtube.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maria Stark is worried about her son, so she gets him a piano tutor to stimulate his artistic side. Tony finds his piano tutor stimulating all right! Oh. And it's Tony's birthday.

Maria was worried about her son. She knew he wasn’t the lazy ne’er do well he would have his father believe. Tony was still in school, still worked obsessively on his own projects. But it wasn’t his career or intellectual development Maria worried about. It was his emotional life. Yes, he went to a lot of parties. But were those young men and women really his friends? Tony had many female friends, but he didn’t seem particularly fond of any of them, seemed to trade them around like cards in a deck. And with Jim gone into the Air Force, she worried. Tony needed comrades. Confidantes. He needed other humans to care about, and to care about him. Because a mother could only do so much. And robots were, well. Robots.

She worried about his left brain. Howard was so concerned with feeding and encouraging Tony’s right brain. But what about his artistic spirit? What about his aesthetic? What about music? She hadn’t heard Tony play...anything in years. And forced recitals at the holidays did not count. Sometimes she thought those made it worse.

But how could she encourage him to play again? How could she ensure her Tony had friends, real friends she could approve of?

 

*

 

It was Tony’s 18th birthday, and he was planning the party of the century. Around the world in 7 days, just him and 10 of his best party crew, all the substances they could consume short of taking a ride to the hospital.

Tony woke up bright and early--10am was unheard of for him, but he had a lot of partying to do. As usual, Howard was nowhere to be found. But Tony wasn’t expecting his mother to be standing on the other side of his bedroom door as he went flouncing out. “Good morning, baby boy.” She smiled, opening her arms for a hug. “Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

“Mom.” Tony wasn’t really sure what to do. Neither of his parents ever came to his room. Ever. At least he hadn’t snuck anyone in last night. He could be grateful for that. “What’s goin’ on?”

“I know you probably have a lot planned with your friends today,” she said, turning and taking his arm. “But I wanted to be sure to give you your present before you were off and running.” Last year mom had gotten him a new wardrobe. Tony didn’t really need any more clothes, but he also couldn’t tell her that. At least she tried. Cared enough to do SOMEthing.

She was leading him toward the conservatory. Typically an airy, open space for gatherings, the conservatories in Stark homes were soundproof coffins meant to be kept quite separate from the rest of the house, where Howard was always somewhere working. But someone must have left the door open a crack, because, as Tony walked down the tastefully-carpeted hallway, past millions of dollars of art collected from Howard’s many world travels, he could hear just the ghost of a tune. The _andante cantabile_ from _[Piano Sonata No. 8](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uAAsth8eLps&t=47s). _

Normally, Tony would have had more than a few snarky comments about someone rigid and gauche enough to choose Beethoven for his father’s Fazioli grand. But something...there was something in the player’s performance that made Tony hurry his step just a little. He wanted to get to the door and open it wider. He wanted to see who was playing that stuffy, overused old tune with such a sweet muted pain, like the sound you might make if you tried to sing while crying.

Letting go of his mother, Tony pulled the sliding doors apart just enough to stand between them, and gaped at the man playing the piano. Was this his birthday present? Okay, clearly the Alma Tadema Steinway the man was playing was meant to be his birthday present, as it was a brand new addition to the conservatory. But this man...whose perfectly-manicured hands moved sensuously across the keys...who was he? _Why_ was he? And, more importantly, was Tony allowed to touch him?

He turned to ask his mother all of these questions with his eyes. Maria was pleased. Clearly she’d surprised him, and that wasn’t an easy thing to do. She smiled, pulling Tony into the room with her. “Tony, this is T.J.”

The man pulled his hands from the keys with a guilty look, and rose to greet them with a bow. “Ma’am.”

“I thought you might like someone to practice with now and then.”

_Hell yes!_ Tony thought. But no doubt not in the way his mother had intended. T.J. was suppressing a smirk. Oh, that was sexy. _What’s amusing you, you sexy beast you?_

“Sweetheart, it’s been so long since I’ve heard you at the piano.”

“You’re right, mom.” Tony put his hand on her back, but his eyes stayed on T.J., hungry. “Maybe all I needed was the right partner.”

T.J. looked away, and Tony was sure he was amused by the double-entendre. Had to be. That meant the game was afoot. _Be still my pants._

“I’m so glad.” His mother pressed a kiss to Tony’s cheek. “I’ll leave the two of you alone to get acquainted. Don’t leave without saying goodbye, dear. Jarvis baked you a cake, and I know he’ll be crestfallen if you don’t eat any this year.”

“I promise, mom.” He smiled at her, the good son for just long enough for Maria to leave the room.

“So.” Tony sauntered over to the piano. Tapped a high C, teasingly. “How much is she paying you to be my friend?”

“She’s not paying me to be your friend.” Oh, now it was the cold shoulder. Maybe Tony was coming on too strong. T.J. sat back down at the piano. “She’s paying me to get you interested in music again.” To Tony’s surprise, he pulled out a cigarette and lit up.

“You can’t smoke in here,” Tony blurted in a rush. “My dad will kill us all!”

T.J. widened his eyes at Tony. “Oh, now who’s the bad boy?” He began to puff away, banging out some ragtime before launching into _[Rhapsody in Blue](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cH2PH0auTUU)_. He paused at the train theme and glanced up at Tony, pulling the cigarette from his lips, briefly. “Are you gonna sit down, or do I have to make you?”

_Make me_ , Tony wanted to beg. _Make me. I want it so bad_ … T.J. played the piano so aggressively, it was making Tony’s blood rush south. This was a completely different persona from the man who’d played Beethoven just a few minutes ago. Tony sat down. If they were sharing the bench, he could scoot closer without being too forward, right?

T.J. showed no signs of noticing Tony, however. He launched into [Mozart’s ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uWYmUZTYE78)[ _Rondo Alla Turca_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uWYmUZTYE78) and played the first 8 bars before shifting to only the baseline. Tony of course took up the treble. But this piece was so easy. Even when T.J. sped up, Tony easily kept time. And it became a race, each attempting to leave the other behind.

When it was over, Tony was a little short of breath--not because playing piano was any sort of exertion, but because he felt like they’d just played a mad game of cat and mouse and Tony wasn’t sure who’d won.

“Okay, that’s good enough for today,” T.J. said, closing the ornate lid over the keys.

“Wait, what? That’s literally one piece. It hasn’t even been ten minutes.”

T.J. stood, grabbing his jacket. A sports jacket with suede elbow patches. Wow. Was he going for the dilf look or what? But T.J. was too young for that. He probably wasn’t even ten years older than Tony. “Yeah, and I was sitting here for two hours waiting for your lazy ass to get out of bed,” T.J. said. “Next time, I want you down here ready to go at 9am sharp. No excuses.”

Tony felt like he was being whipped into shape by the world’s prettiest drill sergeant. With anyone else, Tony would have resisted authority like crazy. But he wanted to see T.J. again. A lot more of him. “Sure thing, sergeant,” he grinned invitingly, draping himself across the lid of the piano, giving T.J. the eyes.

Maybe it was working, T.J. looked genuinely startled for a moment. “Don’t call me that,” he said in a rush, striding for the door.

“Oh captain my captain,” Tony teased.

T.J. turned at the door, even more annoyed. “Go fuck yourself, Stark.”

Tony tried puppy eyes on him. “I’d prefer it if you did.”

“Yeah, I’ll just bet.” But T.J. looked less angry now. Maybe more like taken off-guard. “For next time, I want you to prepare Chopin’s _Etude Opus 10 No. 4_. And don’t wing it. I’ll be able to tell.”

“Whatever you say, handsome.” So many things Tony wanted to say, but he didn’t want to piss T.J. off again.

T.J. just shook his head. “Next Thursday. Don’t forget.”

“Oh, trust me.” But T.J. was already gone. “I won’t.” Tony sat alone at the piano, pulling the hood back to look thoughtfully at the keys for several moments. Then he gently gripped his erection through his pajama bottoms and jerked off, toes curling as he imagined T.J.pounding him bent over the piano. Man, did Tony want that guy. But he could play the game. Tony didn’t like to wait, but he could, if that’s what it took.

He showered before going to the formal dining room to see his birthday cake. Tony owed Jarvis at least that much. He walked into the long room, feeling every time as he had the first time, small and very alone. But the many-tiered cake in the center of the table was like a warm hug. Cheesecake, Tony’s favorite. With the New York style on the bottom, strawberry compote and whipped cream just the way he liked it, and the fancier versions (usually Jarvis’ experiments with flavors) higher up, and in smaller sizes, in case Tony didn’t like them. The number 18 was spelled out in chocolate ganache on the topmost layer (raspberry and dark chocolate), sprinkled with m&ms. Tony gripped the table. Why was he getting so emotional about this? It was just a damned cake.

“Happy Birthday, Sir!” Jarvis swept into the room through the swinging kitchen door, carrying a tray of espresso shots and a pot of tea, efficient as ever. He set the tray down to one side of the cake and waited dutifully for Tony to give him further instruction. But Tony couldn’t speak. If he said anything, he knew he would start crying.

“Happy Birthday, Anthony!” Ana entered a few moments behind her husband, carrying a tray with ice cream and a large bowl of whipped cream. But when she saw Tony’s face, she quickly dropped the tray on the table and ran around to jerk Tony into a forcefully protective hug. “What’s wrong with you, Edwin? Can’t you see this boy needs love?”

“Yes, I--no, of course.” Jarvis quickly added his arms to Ana’s, and Tony found himself in the midst of a Jarvis sandwich. Ana’s shoulders were slender, but Tony had always felt safe crying on them.   

“Sorry,” he mumbled, trying to get himself under control. “I don’t know why--”

“There, there,” Ana told him, petting his hair. “You know you don’t owe us any explanations.” She gave Jarvis a meaning look.

“Mr. Stark--your father said he would call this afternoon. He would have called this morning, but he thought he’d let you sleep in.” Tony wondered how long Jarvis had had to lie for Howard that it came so easily now.

“Yeah, sure. It’s fine.” Tony swiped the tears away, turning back to his birthday cake. “Thanks, J. This looks amazing.”

“Allow me to cut you the first slice, Sir.”

Tony wasn’t hungry, but he ate three slices anyway. Two of the New York-style and one of a spicy ginger and cardamom cake second from the top. He was still contemplating how he felt about the combination when the phone rang. Glancing at the wall, Tony could see it was his private line. He ran for it, skidding across the hardwood floor like Tom Cruise in _Risky Business_. “Stark Incorporated, pleasure bots to fulfill your dirtiest fantasies. How can we fill you today?”

“Happy Birthday, Tony.”

“Alright, Airman. It’s three in the afternoon, Eastern Time. What bribe did you have to give up to get someone to finish your detail?”

“You know some people will do you a favor if you just say please.” Rhodey was a great advocate for the direct approach.

Tony leaned against the wall, getting comfortable. “Ohhhh, turning on the old Rhodes charm. I got it. So what’s her name, heartbreaker?”

“You’re funny. Please tell me you’re not doing anything wild and crazy for your birthday.”

“Oh, so you want me to lie? Sure, I can do that. I’m not doing anything interesting for my birthday, platypus. Just staying home and reading in the bath, like every other Saturday night.” A slow grin spread over Tony’s face. “Wish you were here, honeybear.”

“I’m not gonna get angry because no one else can hear this phone call.”

“What? Did the NSA stop listening in?”

“Very funny. Look, your present should get there tomorrow at the latest. I expect a huge thank you.”

“Well now I’m excited.” Tony continued to flirt. Because annoying your best friend was fun.

“Don’t be,” Rhodey said.

“Is it another tie rack?”

“No.”

“Shaving set?”

“I know you don’t shave yourself.”

“Oo, is it a stripper?”

“Look, I really wish I could be there.”

“So it IS a stripper.”

“But they wouldn’t let me request leave. I’m really sorry, man.”

“Don’t be sorry.” Tony tried to sound cheerful. “You’d just slow down the party tonight anyway.”

“You mean your long bath. With a book.”

“Right. Wait, was that a double-entendre? Did you just make an innuendo?”

“You wish, Tony.”

“I miss you.” It slipped out, and Tony hadn’t even thought it before it happened. “I mean, in my bath, of course.”

Rhodey sounded a little taken aback. “Sure. All those hot, steamy chess matches we used to play in the tub, smoking suggestively at one another.”

“I told you you’d love that book.”

“That book scarred me, Tony. But, thanks for sending them. It’s nice to have a break from training manuals some nights.”

“Take care of yourself, Platypus.” Why was everything suddenly getting so serious? “No dangerous training exercises.”

“Sure. And no hard drugs and partying in parts unknown for you. Promise?”

Why was Tony more worried about Rhodey now? Because if Rhodey knew Tony was lying, that meant Rhodey was lying, too? “I will if you will.”

“I love you, man. Happy Birthday.”

“I know, Princess. Promise you’ll wear that hot slave girl outfit when you come rescue me from Jabba the Hutt?”

“Goodbye, Tony.” When Rhodey hung up, he sounded less angry than usual. Maybe that was Tony’s birthday present.

The day had taken a few turns, and it was barely noon. Tony went with it, calling up his party friends and letting them know there was a change of plans: they’d be clubbing in Tel Aviv tonight, no world travel. When they finally got there, Tony tried to have fun, but he just didn’t feel like the birthday boy; just the usual sugar daddy life of the party.

When Howard finally called at 1am (when it was no longer his birthday anywhere in the world), Tony was both drunk and high. So he chose to answer the call anyway. Howard had a few choice things to say, but none of them was “happy birthday.” Tony turned 18 and felt no different than before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  The piano Maria got Tony for his birthday.


	2. Before the Darkness Turns to Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At Tony's second piano lesson, T.J. goes hard on him. Tony plays easy to get. And Howard appears to ruin Tony's morning.

The week passed in a haze of drugs and depression. Every so often, Tony would wake up, and Jarvis would offer a cold compress and aspirin for his head.

“I don’t know what to do with you.” What was his mother doing in his bedroom?! She never came in here!

Then Tony remembered he’d passed out in the pool house, half nurturing a fantasy of drowning himself. “I’m fine, mom.” Because he was always fine. Starks were always, always fine. Even moreso when they weren’t fine. Right now Tony was the most fine of anyone ever.

“Sweetheart, I haven’t heard you playing the piano all week… T.J. will be here tomorrow. Don’t you want to be prepared?”

T.J...how had Tony forgotten all about the hottie in his own conservatory? He sat up suddenly and immediately regretted it. “You’re right, mom. Like always. You’re absolutely right.” Tony gave her a kiss and limped indoors to get cleaned up. He spent the rest of the day at the piano. T.J. had said Chopin, right? Tony played every piece he could remember. Then he dug out the sheet music and played every piece he could find.

Tony was in the conservatory for so long, Dum-E came looking for him. “Hey, buddy, what’s wrong? You miss me?” Was it weird to pet a robot? Whatever. Tony had had the droid for far longer than any pet he’d ever been given. For his entire childhood, Howard had insisted things Tony loved be given away within the first month of owning them. Dogs, cats, even fish. But not this one. Dum-E was Tony’s.

Around 3am, Tony went to bed. Not because he was tired, or because he needed sleep--he was still totally wired--but because he needed to give his fingers a rest if he hoped to keep his hands from cramping painfully in front of his piano teacher--or piano partner, or whatever it was T.J. had said last time.

When T.J. came the next morning, Tony was ready. Soft sweater, comfortable slacks, stylish Converse, and a fresh spritz of cologne. His hair was perfect, his nails were perfect, he was perfect. “Hi,” Tony greeted T.J., doing his best cute and flirtatious both at once. But T.J. walked in without noticing, setting a beat-up briefcase down on a nearby chair without ceremony and demanding that Tony play. “Well good morning to you, too, Sunshine,” Tony said, mildly offended at not being noticed the way he’d planned to be.

“I’m not here to play Miss Manners,” T.J. said, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. “ _[Opus 10 No. 4](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mUVCGsWhwHU)_. Play, before I get a ruler and go all Sister Mary Constance on your knuckles.”

Tony began to play, but slowly. Too slowly. “So this Sister Mary Constance, she sounds intriguing. Why don’t you tell me more about her.”

“Play!” T.J. said, whacking Tony across the tops of his hands with a wooden pointer.

“Jesus, where’d you find that, 1934?”

“Very funny.”

“I am.” Tony batted his eyes at T.J. “You should give me a chance.”

“I did,” T.J. said. “And you sat there jerking off and talking instead of playing the piece.”

Tony wanted to make a smart remark (when didn’t he?), he really did. But he could tell this was not the time. So instead, he bent forward and set about showing his best performance. Behind him, T.J. paced and smoked and smoked and paced. And as Tony got into it, T.J. started to shout directions at him, like some half-chimney, half-conductor hybrid. “Put your back into it!”

“No, that part’s gentle, like butterflies on the surface of a pond.”

“Run! Run like wolves are chasing you!”

Tony did his best to see the dirtiest possible meanings in all of these directions. The last one he found particularly intriguing.

Finally it was over, and he looked up to see if T.J. had been duly impressed. He hadn’t. But he was pulling the last cigarette out of the pack. “My dad really will kill us all,” Tony said in dismay.

“I’d like to see him try.” And T.J. said it with such conviction that suddenly Tony wanted to see it, too? T.J. was big under that jacket. He could probably wipe the floor with Howard. And Tony wanted that. He wanted to see that. Badly. To see Howard taken down a peg or ten. Or, you know, utterly humiliated by his son’s piano teacher, whichever was easier to arrange.

“Will you play me something now?” Tony asked. T.J. wandered over and leaned against the piano, eyeing the keys almost longingly. Tony wished T.J. would look at him like that.

“I don’t know if I can,” T.J. said softly.

“What do you mean?” Tony laughed nervously. Something about the intense way T.J. was looking at the keys made him a little skittish--excited? Maybe that’s all it was.

“I mean…” T.J. looked confused for a moment, flexing and curling the fingers of his left hand. He looked at it, thoughtful.

“Ohhhh, I get it. You took something before you came,” Tony said. “Got any left? I could use something to relax me--”

“Don’t be stupid,” T.J. snapped. “I don’t do drugs. Only losers take drugs.”

“Well excuse me, Nancy Reagan. I didn’t realise the First Lady was here today.”

“Shut up.” T.J. rolled his eyes, and just like that, the odd mood was gone. He sat down on the bench as if the exchange before had never happened, sliding over until he gently bumped Tony off the bench. Tony didn’t mind--not really. Because just as he was starting to be indignant, [T.J. started to play...and sing](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A_AAWh_oeFw&t=0s&list=PLpke0seXZF1sN7rrQOa4eptoZObLAKZN7&index=6). What the hell was that song? Barry Manilow? Was this the same guy who’d just chided him for an imperfect Chopin performance just a few minutes ago, crooning like a man with a broken heart?

Tony melted like ice cream on a hot summer’s day. When T.J. finally stopped, Tony’s brain was on fire. Even T.J. looked slightly stunned, like he was coming out of a hypnotic state, or from remembering something long ago. “Who _are_ you?” Too bad his mouth was always three steps ahead of his brain. The second the words were across his lips, Tony regretted it.

Like that, the spell dissipated, and T.J. rose to his feet, grabbing his jacket. “It’s been real, kid.”

“Wait...you’re leaving?” Tony trailed after him, like an abandoned puppy. “But you just got here. I was on time this time!” Tony felt a sort of panic clawing at his throat. He’d been a good boy this time. Don’t leave again, dad.

T.J. turned and gave him an odd look. “Listen.” He pointed to the clock. “I think you and I both know your concentration isn’t going to last for longer than 30 minutes. I’m not gonna hang out here so that you can practice your bar lines on me for an extra half hour.” Before Tony could protest, T.J. slapped several books of sheet music into his chest.

“W--?”

“For next time. I’ll let you pick. But play ‘em all through first. Whichever one you choose, put some soul into it, okay? Just because music is a couple 100 years old doesn’t mean it can’t live. You have to bring it to life.” He walked to the door and paused, turning back. “Think you can do that, boy genius?”

“You want passion?” Tony stood on his tip-toes, nostrils flaring, chest stuck out. “You have no idea what I’m capable of.”

T.J. rolled his eyes. “Oh, Jesus. Just play me some music, okay? No one’s asking for a strip-tease.”

Tony smirked, fluttering his eyelashes, but T.J. just shut the door on him. So much for flirting.

And then it hit him like a ton of bricks--where Tony had heard that song before. That was no Barry Manilow cover!! He ran to the doors, jerked them open, running down the hall like an excited fanboy. “Scott Bakula! Scott Bakula sang that song on _Quantum Leap_ just this season! Wait! I know you watch it, too!” And there it was, his nerdy confession, shouted for the whole house to hear. Tony made it all the way to the door without finding T.J. And--it was the weirdest thing--when he got there, there was no car in the drive, no T.J. walking down the gravel park. It was as though he’d simply disappeared into thin air. “Weeeeeeeird,” Tony whispered to himself.

“I’ll say.” Oh god. It would be Howard right behind him. “Didn’t I tell you to stay off that boob tube, boy? TV rots your brain.” He slammed the door, heedless of the fact Tony had still been holding onto the handle. “Now get back to work. Show your old man you’ve still got some cotton between your ears, for once.”

Howard turned to pick up the day’s Wall Street Journal, and if looks could kill, Tony would have burned holes into Howard’s back. How he hated that man. How could you loathe someone, yet crave their approval so desperately at the same time?

“How did your lesson go, sweetheart?” Tony started to breathe again when he heard his mother’s voice--luckily for Howard.

“It went great, Mom!” He turned to face her with a carefully practiced smile. “Thanks again. You’re the best!” He leaned over to give her a peck on the cheek.

“You’re a good boy, Tony. Isn’t he a good boy, Howard?” She smiled at her husband’s back. It was like Howard was always moving away from both of them.

Howard just grunted, looking at stocks. “IBM is down again. Damn that broker. I told him to sell!” And he plowed off to make his daily phone calls. Tony sagged a little bit, though whether it was with relief or disappointment, he couldn’t say.

“There, there, dear,” Maria soothed. “You know it’s never personal with your father.”

 _I’ll say,_ Tony thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may have noticed T.J. assigned Tony a very difficult piece to master in a week. Tony's technical ability after playing for most of his life and being a quick study is more than capable of doing this--or would have been if he actually cared or had tried.


	3. A Sigh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After experiencing some emotion during his last visit, the Winter Soldier asks Pierce to reset his programming.
> 
> This time, Tony chooses his own music assignment and actually practices. But T.J. is unimpressed by the lack of soul and focus in Tony's performance. When he attempts to show Tony how it's done, a flashback derails their lesson, requiring a quick exit.

The asset knew he was in trouble. He could feel himself going, becoming compromised, though he didn’t understand why--he rarely did. The asset had been trained to self-report, faithfully, ruthlessly, and so he did. Extricating himself from the mission site swiftly, he returned to the checkpoint.

Pierce looked at his dog, his expression bored. “Coffee? Maybe a night cap?” He liked to taunt the asset, test his training, make sure he hadn’t forgotten what and whose he really was. Pierce was tired, just home from a long day of playing office at SHIELD, and preparing for an even longer night of doing his real job for Hydra. But it looked like his priorities had just changed. “I suppose you’re here for a reason.”

“Something’s off,” the asset said, in the demure growl he saved for his master. “It slipped out of place. I can feel it.”

“Okay, well.” The annoyance in Pierce’s voice was obvious. “You know what to do.” The asset stood and moved toward the secret staircase. “I’ll let them know you’re coming.” He pushed a button to alert the lab in his backyard bunker that they should expect a guest. This had been a stupid idea. Why did he ever listen to those fools? It was too risky, not just because of how unstable the asset was, but because Howard Stark would recognize him on sight. Staying out of the man’s way in his own home was easier said than done.

They should have gone with the Russians’ plan. A swift strike to get the serum, two corpses, no questions. They had plenty of time to work on the boy later. Stane would see to that. But now this terrible plan was in motion, Pierce was curious. What would it do to his favorite toy? And because he was curious, he let it go, for now. They could always employ the Russians’ plan later, when this one failed.

When the asset awoke in the machine, agents had to re-brief him of the mission, remind him where he’d left off, what the objectives were. He remembered a little. He THOUGHT he did. A designer piano in a big empty house with a lonely, vulnerable teenage boy and his aging, neglectful parents; a ridiculously easy mark for any of the Red Room girls, so why had they chosen him for this mission? It didn’t make sense. But his was not to question why.

 

*

 

Tony agonized all week over what piece to choose for T.J.’s return. Should it be something agonizingly difficult, like Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto No. 3? Or something whimsical and playful, like _La Ci Darem la Mano_ from Don Giovanni? T.J. had demanded something with soul, so did he want Jazz? Something more modern?

Well, T.J. had limited him to just the choices presented in the sheet music he’d left, so that helped Tony narrow things down. He sorted through the pieces over and over again, played all of them, liked none of them, listened to other performances of them, hated some of them, and so on all week long, until he finally found one he could work with--not because it was difficult; it was a damned etude--but because of the fingerwork involved. If nothing else, Tony felt he could show off a little bit for T.J., hell, maybe impress him some.

And so for the last three days, he practiced and practiced and practiced, frenetically. He practiced at the piano, of course, but then he also practiced in his workshop, at the breakfast table (much to Jarvis’ disapproval), on his mattress, on any surface that could take the pressure of his fingers. Once Tony had all of the movements committed to muscle memory, he sat down and worked on the emotion behind the piece. But how to produce feelings for a long-dead piece of paper? He practiced while listening to music that got his own blood pumping. Finally, he felt like he could do it. If he listened to the AC/DC track silently playing in his brain, Tony thought he could at least emulate passion for the dusty old notes, if not produce it from scratch.

And then T.J. came back. But there was something off about him this time. He looked slightly lost, like he’d just come out of a coma. “You alright, old sport?” Tony asked him, smiling, hopeful.

T.J. made a face, sliding off his buttery leather jacket and tossing his briefcase into an antique wing-backed chair. “Who are you supposed to be, Jay Gatsby?”

Tony leaned toward him on the piano bench, smirking suggestively, dropping his voice an octave. “Only if you’ll be my Nick Carraway.”

“What’s that mean?” T.J. asked, refusing to make eye contact as he walked around Tony to stand at the far end of the piano. “You wanna have an affair with my cousin?”

Tony rolled his eyes, deeply frustrated. “Did you even READ the book, professor? No, let me guess: the Cliffs notes.”

“You weren’t even _born_ when that book came out!” Why was T.J. pointing at him accusingly? “Cliffs notes didn’t even exist back then!”

“Well, excuse me, Marty McFly. I didn’t realize we were playing time traveler bingo today.”

“What?” T.J. just looked confused.

Tony swiped his hand over his face, frustrated in more ways than one. “Please don’t tell me you’ve never seen _Back to the Future._  How can you be a _Quantum Leap_ fan and be unfamiliar with the rest of the genre?”

“Stop being weird.” And just like that, the maestro was back. T.J. clapped his hands. “Play. I wanna hear your assignment.”

And so Tony did, launching into the piece with no more preamble than that, hoping to catch T.J. off guard. At first, he could have sworn it worked, because T.J.’s eyebrows shot up at the first three bars. “[Liszt?](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZMBmupsvRzQ) Really?”

“You’re the one who gave me the sheet music,” Tony pointed out. Oh yes. He could carry on whole conversations--nay, philosophical debates--while playing the piece at this point.

“I didn’t realize you were such a romantic.”

What was that supposed to mean? But instead of taking it personally, Tony saw it as an opening. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, sweetcheeks. Stick around, and maybe I’ll show you.” T.J. rolled his eyes and turned away, but not before Tony caught just the hint of a pleased smirk. He played on, waiting for T.J. to produce his trademark pack of cigarettes, but nothing happened. Well, smoking didn’t happen. T.J. walked to the bar--what room in the Stark household DIDN’T have a bar?--and poured himself a drink. Scotch on the rocks.

“I’d be careful with that if I were you,” Tony warned. “Dad doesn’t keep anything in the house less than 50--” But before he could finish, T.J. started knocking back drinks like a professional wino. Tony watched in fascination as T.J. knocked back a fifth of scotch, and then strolled casually back to the piano with his tumbler half full. “You know, if you’re drunk, you can’t drive anywhere after this,” Tony told him, pleased that T.J. wouldn’t be disappearing into thin air after his lesson this time.

“I’ll walk.” T.J. shrugged with one shoulder. So much for Tony’s dreams.

“That means I get to keep your bike,” he grinned, determined to flirt for as long as he could get away with it.

“It’s not like you’d know what to do with it,” T.J. said, leaning his elbows on top of the piano.

“You’d be surprised what I can do with a 53 horsepower engine between my thighs.” Tony vamped it up, aiming his eyelashes at T.J. with German-engineered precision.

“Sounds like a personal problem,” T.J. said, raising his glass to Tony before taking another swig.

“You’re no fun,” Tony pouted.

“You should really be paying better attention to what you’re doing.”

The piece was almost done. Tony didn’t even care anymore. “I said WITH PASSION!” T.J. shouted, slamming his fist on top of the piano. Tony nearly fell off the stool. Violent outbursts he expected from Howard. But no one else in his life was capable of this. Tony had been completely unprepared. His fingers froze, held in the air over the keyboard, and he looked at T.J. like a deer in headlights.

“Again!” T.J. demanded, walking around the piano toward Tony. “From the beginning. And this time with feeling. I’m serious.” The look he gave Tony said he meant business; no joking around this time. But Tony was too scared--and, if he was honest, also a little turned on--to make a trademark joke at this point. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes. Tony poised his fingers over the keys, found a scrap of calm, and began to play.

“That’s good.” T.J. circled around him like a music-loving vulture. “More.” Tony almost lost it when T.J. suddenly gripped his shoulders from behind. Was this it? Was it finally happening--his fantasy come true? But, no. Sadly, it just seemed that T.J. was really into Tony’s performance. “Yes! Like that! Go on!”

Tony tried to pretend they were in bed, that these words of encouragement were being shouted at him for different reasons. But he started to lose focus, and T.J. pinched him. “Hey!”

“Pay attention!” T.J. demanded.

And Tony did his best. But honestly, it would have helped if T.J. hadn’t been standing right behind him. Finally, a small eternity later, Tony finished with a whimper, bending forward over the keys. He was startled by T.J.’s applause.

“I didn’t think you had it in you, kid.”

“Kid?” Tony was indignant. “You’re not that much older than me, daddy-o.”

“If you say so.” Then T.J. did the thing again where he scooted Tony over on the bench by sitting down next to him and nudging Tony with his ass. _Hot._

“You gonna take me to school, old man?”

But T.J. didn’t answer. He just played. “[Summertime](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=92HtJHxosWg).” And then launched into a jazz improv Tony could never have anticipated. It was breathtaking. Or maybe Tony was just holding his breath because of the sex faces T.J. made as he played, sweat beginning to bead on his brow. For T.J.’s part, he barely opened his eyes, just squinted and groaned and swayed, focused entirely on the music. Tony half-wondered if he might get away with some small indiscretion while T.J. was playing. But did he dare try it? No. Not quite.

By the time he stopped, T.J. was dripping sweat onto the keys, breathing heavily. Tony felt spent and ready to go both at once. “That was….something.” It didn’t seem appropriate to applaud, somehow. What was the right way to show appreciation in jazz. Snap? “ _Porgy and Bess_ , though? Isn’t that kind of...un-p.c.?”

 

*

 

The asset paused. Yes. It had been from that opera. Most of the time, he barely knew; he just played what came to mind. But what was it about that opus? Something. Something about that work. Had it been in his studies? His briefings?

 

~

 

“Really, Barnes? _Porgy and Bess_?”

Bucky had looked up, startled. Gabe usually encouraged his feeble attempts at music. “What’s wrong with it, Gabe?” Steve asked, always jumping to Bucky’s defense long before anyone told him it was necessary. “I figured you’d like it--”

“Because why, Rogers? Because it has a cast of all negroes?” Gabe was mad now. As mad as Bucky had ever seen him.

Steve looked wary. Like he understood that he’d said something wrong, but not what it was. “Well...sure.”

Jones lit up a cigarette, shaking his head.

“Sorry, Gabe,” Bucky apologized. “I can play something else. Your pick.” It was Bucky’s job to smooth things over between the guys. Always.

“It’s because in the play, all the people are poor and on drugs.” No one expected Morita to speak up.

“Don’t forget _unintelligent_ ,” Jones added, still fuming.

“But we don’t think you’re unintelligent,” Steve said, sounding hurt.

“I’m sorry, Gabe.” Bucky could tell from Jones’ reaction that that was the wrong answer.

“It’s like if Mozart wrote an opera about the Irish, but they were all drunks who ate nothing but potatoes.” Morita was still trying to get through.

“Hey!” Now Steve was offended.

“Watch it there, pal.” So was Dugan.

“Exactly.” Jim felt he’d made his point.

“Oh.” Bucky thought he understood. A little.

“ _Although a play written about the English, who think they are superior to all others, yet fuck horses, that_ would _be true_ ,” Dernier added in French.

Gabe burst out laughing, and no one but he, Jacques, and Monty knew why. “I beg your pardon!” Falsworth said.

Bucky watched Steve’s brow furrow as he thought and thought, attempting to translate what Dernier had said from a high school level of French. “I dunno.” He shrugged at Bucky. “Somethin’ about Englishmen having good horses.”

Gabe burst out laughing all over again.

“ _Et, voila!_ ” Dernier gestured as if he’d just performed a magic trick.

“Frenchmen are mean,” Falsworth sulked.

“I don’t get it,” Steve said.

Bucky was just glad the argument had passed. Lucky for them, Dernier always knew how to make Jones laugh.

 

~

 

“Hel-looo! Earth to T.J.” Tony was waving his hand in front of the asset’s face. How long had he been out? Clearly too long. He stood, hurriedly gathering his sheet music.

“That’s enough for today.”

“What the hell?” Tony was always disappointed when he left. That part of the mission, at least, was going to plan. “I don’t even get an explanation?”

“Someday, Dorothy,” the asset told him, trying to sound flippant as he tossed a scarf over his shoulders and pulled on his jacket. He got up, saying, “Maybe you can do the same.”

“Someday what?” Tony was following him, not giving him much space, and the asset needed it right now. Badly. He knew he had to create a distraction. Something to scramble Stark’s circuits almost as badly as his own were currently scrambled. So he leaned over and kissed the boy on the cheek. Then left.

 

*

 

Tony was still standing there, stiff and frozen, several seconds after T.J. had left the room. “What...the fuck?” Just how was Tony supposed to take that?????


	4. The Scandal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With memories returning from WWII, the Winter Soldier has to be wiped completely.
> 
> When T.J. doesn't show up for his next piano lesson, Tony runs to Maria for comfort. And Howard has to add his toxic two cents on the subject.

After that, Pierce decided on a full wipe. The asset couldn’t disagree, but he wished he could have. Full wipes hurt. And it was so hard to return mid-mission when you’d had to learn everything all over again from scratch. 

 

*

 

The following Thursday found Tony waiting for T.J. in the conservatory bright and early, nervous yet exhausted, but far too excited to slow down. What would happen between them today? Had last time been the warm-up, or the coup de grace? Had T.J. been thinking about Tony as much as Tony had been thinking about him? Tony touched the spot on his cheek where T.J. had kissed him, remembering the feel of those lips...

But then T.J. was late, and Tony started to worry. T.J. was never late. He’d yelled at Tony for being late. He was a punctual guy. Early, usually. Tony picked up the in-house phone and called the kitchen. “Is there anything you require, Sir?” Bless Jarvis.

_ Yes I fucking do, I need my hot music teacher, _ Tony wanted to say.  _ I need him right now, all of him, all around me, underneath me… _

“Sir? Are you quite well?”

Damn, he’d gotten distracted. “Oh no--everything’s fine, J. I was just wondering--not that it’s important--has T.J. come yet this morning?” Maybe he’d had a toilet emergency on the way to the conservatory or something.

“I’m afraid not, Sir. Shall I ask Madam if he called with any message?”

“Yes. Sure. Please.” Why was Tony sounding so desperate? This was embarrassing.

“Very good, Sir.” When Jarvis hung up, Tony paced the room like a caged animal.

It was centuries before Jarvis called him back. Tony had nearly worn through the carpet with his pacing by then. Okay, in the real world, only ten minutes had passed, but. “Did you find out?” Tony blurted.

“There’s been no call to explain his tardiness, Sir. Would you care for some breakfast?” Jarvis was always trying to comfort him with food. If Tony weren’t so neurotic, he would have become a fat kid for sure.

“No thanks, J.” Tony dropped the phone back into its cradle, feeling dejected. He sagged against the top of the piano. There was still time. He might still come, right?

When T.J. didn’t show at any point in their scheduled practice hour, Tony nearly went out of his mind. But instead of diving into a downward spiral as he would have normally done, Tony went to find his mother. Maria was in her day room, writing letters. To whom she wrote letters all day long, Tony never asked.

“Hey, mom.” Tony did his best to keep the desperation out of his voice.

She looked up and beamed. At least there was one person in the world who was always happy to see him. “Well hello, sweetheart. You’re up early this morning.” She patted the chair next to her, beckoning him over.

“It was supposed to be my piano lesson,” Tony said, trying his best to sound casual.

“Oh no, sweetpea!” She gathered him into her arms as though he were still five years old. “He didn’t come today?”

_ Not yet, _ Tony thought. But he was determined. Someday soon, T.J. would come for Tony. All over him... Tony hid his face in his mother’s shoulder. “No.” Was he crying? No. He wasn’t crying. But he was close.

Maria stroked his hair. “Well I’m sure there was a reason, sweetheart. T.J.’s always so punctual.”

“Yeah.” He nodded against her.

“I hope he’s okay…” Tony hadn’t even thought that something might have happened to T.J. His mind had automatically jumped to getting dumped, to T.J. not coming back because he didn’t want that kind of relationship with Tony. Now his brain descended down a much darker path. Maria sensed him tensing up. “Oh no,” she soothed. “I’m sure he’s fine, my darling. Don’t worry. Oh, my poor baby.”

She must have held him and stroked his back for ten minutes. Tony was simultaneously in heaven and hell. His mother was rarely this physically affectionate with him--but then, Howard was usually there, and he discouraged any and all physical contact he felt might make his son soft.

_ “Maria, you’re spoiling that boy! He’s a grown man! Don’t treat him like an infant!” _

_ “You wouldn’t let me hold him when he was an infant, either! When am I allowed to hold my own child?” _

_ “Don’t be ridiculous. That’s what servants are for! My wife’s not going to be some nanny.” _

_ “Howard…” _

_ “Stop crying, woman! You only use tears to manipulate me!” _

Tony was having trouble breathing. A flashback like that, when he was already terrified T.J. had either left him or died in a motorcycle accident--motorcycle accidents were almost always fatal for the rider...

“Is everything alright, dear?” He must have been silent for too long.

“Yeah.” Tony popped up, smiling cheerfully. “Just a little worried, disappointed, you know? I’m sure it’s nothing. But if you hear from him, let me know, okay?”

“Of course, sweetheart,” Maria promised. “I’ll make sure he’s coming for your lesson next week.”

That day, Tony listened to the police scanner instead of his usual rock ‘n roll in his workshop. But there were no reports of a motorcycle accident. Just the usual crime and fun in the Hollywood Hills.

 

On Wednesday Maria told him she hadn’t been able to get in touch with T.J. “It was the strangest thing,” she said, daintily tapping her spoon against her standard boiled egg breakfast. “His roommate answered and said he’d gone out of town.”

Roommate? Was T.J. a college student? Did he live with a woman? Two women? Was he the real life Jack Tripper? Was he actually gay the way Jack Tripper only pretended to be gay to save on rent? Tony’s mind had been chasing its tail for a week. But he could get at least one question answered. “Oh. Did she say where he went?”

“Hm?” Maria looked up from her coffee. “Oh no, dear. His roommate was a man.” She chuckled. “You naughty thing. Only men like your father live with women out of wedlock.” She glanced over at Howard, in a flirtatious way that turned Tony’s stomach. “T.J.’s a good boy. From a good family.”

“Oh? Where’s he from?” His mother had intel she’d been withholding from him?!

“Well his mother comes from old money in Illinois.” His mother leaned forward, as if she were sharing some secret. “Both of his parents were politicians...at one time.”

“Honestly, Maria. Only you could find a music teacher from your women’s society groups.”

“I’m allowed to have interesting friends, too, Howard,” she said. And Tony felt the immediate urge to leave the room, not wanting to get in the middle of a potential fight between his parents.

“Of course you are.” Howard smiled condescendingly. “So where is this golden boy? Lying in a pool of his own vomit in some crack house like the other spoiled brats who come from old money, I presume?”

“Howard!”

“Come on, honey, it was all over the news when he went into rehab. You think I don’t read the news?”

Tony was listening so intently, he felt like he could almost read their thoughts. T.J. was a recovered addict? That would be ironic, considering how holier-than-thou he’d acted the first time Tony had mentioned controlled substances. Was that why T.J. smoked so much? Tony needed to get to know him better with every fiber of his being.

Maria Stark had that unhappy clench to her lips, like an angry Kermit de Frog, which said she didn’t want to continue this conversation. “Howard, I wish you wouldn’t--”

“Bad enough the selfish brat came out of the closet and nearly ruined his father’s campaign.” He was reaching for the steam tray of oatmeal when a thought struck him, and Howard suddenly turned on her. “You’re not letting him practice alone with Tony?”

“Oh, Howard, don’t be ridiculous!”

“No son of mine is gonna catch the queerios.” He leveled his deadly gaze on Tony. “He ever try to touch you, boy? Kiss you goodbye when you weren’t expecting it?”

Tony had had enough. He stood suddenly, propping his fists on the table. “If he ever did, I would have been  _ happy!” _

“Don’t you raise your voice to me!”

“Howard, you’re shouting.”

“Stay out of this, Maria.”

“Is everything to your liking, Sir?” That was Jarvis, mild as ever, appearing from the kitchen to interrupt this regularly scheduled Stark family row with perfect timing.

Tony caught movement out of the corner of his eye and turned to see Ana beckoning him from the pantry. He quickly left the table while Howard was busy reassuring Jarvis that breakfast was amazing.

“It’s shopping day,” Ana told Tony when he’d joined her out of sight of the dining room. “There’s an awful lot. I could really use an extra pair of hands.”

“You want me...to help you?” Tony was confused.

“Thank you for offering. You’re such a sweet boy, Anthony.” She pinched his cheek, and bustled off, and that was that. Tony seemed to be committed to helping her with the grocery shopping, even though they always had food delivered.

There followed weeks of drama that not even Ana’s distractions could keep Tony out of. First Howard insisted T.J. never be allowed into their home again for fear he would seduce Tony and turn him into one of “those homos.” Then, when Maria defied him and went behind his back to schedule lessons with T.J. anyway, he continued to be ‘out of town’ indefinitely.

Tony was despondent. He tried to comfort himself that at least T.J. was alive, but that didn’t make him feel better. His roommate was probably just telling Tony’s mom that T.J. was out of town so that he wouldn’t have to come back. But what had Tony done? He’d practiced. He’d done everything T.J. had asked. And T.J. had been the one to kiss HIM. So what was the deal?

After a month, Tony gave up. It just wasn’t worth the heartbreak.

 

*

 

Reprogramming the asset took time. Too much time. Enough time that the plan nearly had to be scrapped. Pierce reconsidered. Was all of this worth it? The Russians might have a point. It would have been much easier and faster just to go in quick and dirty, retrieve the serum and get out. But that would leave them down two geniuses. And if they could seduce the younger, how much easier would it be to get the elder Stark on their side? There was only so much Howard Stark would do for SHIELD. His loyalty to Margaret Carter had flagged with his marriage. 

Maybe just one more try, Pierce thought. The asset was capable of delivering on this. The last reversion had surely just been a fluke, and they had caught it in time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How elaborate of a cover for Hydra is T.J. Hammond? Is the entire Hammond family working for Hydra? For now, I'll leave those answers up to the readers. Those may be questions I'll revisit in future fics.


	5. Liberation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When T.J. returns to the Stark mansion, he's not himself. Tony demands explanations, and gets more than he bargained for. When he gives brutal honesty for honesty, Tony triggers a dark memory for the Winter Soldier. Suddenly they're both in trouble, and it's time to run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: This chapter contains references to the Holocaust and a scene outside a concentration camp. Please do what you need to do to take care of yourself.

It was summer when T.J. finally returned to Howard Stark’s California home. Tony had patched over his heartbreak with MIT and his workshop. He hadn’t even intended to come home from Boston, but his mother had told him she’d gotten him a surprise for completing another Ph.D. with flying colors. If Tony had known what the surprise was, he probably wouldn’t have come at all. Probably.

But he missed Jarvis and Ana when he was away. And his mother, of course. And Howard was “traveling abroad”--what broad, Tony did not want to know--so it had seemed safe to come home.

The moment Tony stepped through the front door, he heard the piano. As Jarvis unloaded his bags from the limo, Tony sprinted down the hall for the conservatory. Maybe it was just his mom playing the piano. She liked to do that from time to time--she was the whole reason Tony had ever learned to play. But. He didn’t think so. It didn’t sound like Maria. It sounded like…

Tony skidded into the room, which took talent, considering that the room had wall to wall carpet. He was just thinking of something clever to say--tamping down his instinct to scream with relief and throw himself at T.J.--when his piano teacher did something truly odd. Still playing, he looked up at Tony, smiled, and nodded before going back to playing.

Tony was immediately suspicious. Since when did his moody, intense piano teacher smile and nod at him like he was happy to see Tony? And, sure, maybe Tony could have believed T.J. had had a change of heart, felt bad for abandoning him--but then T.J. went right back to playing, glaring at the keys in the way he used to do.

So what the hell did that mean? Had Howard given him a stern lecture about being friendly but keeping his distance? Had Maria told him how upset his absence had made Tony and begged him to play nice?

Confused, Tony plopped into the opposite piano bench, staring at T.J. across two grand pianos, trying to solve the mystery. [Rachmaninov’s _Prelude in G minor_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mxnL7UrkmY4&index=9&list=PLpke0seXZF1sN7rrQOa4eptoZObLAKZN7&t=0s). It was like an invitation to a fight. Or a dance. T.J. had to know that, right? He was the one who’d chosen it. ...right?

Fine, then. It was an invitation, and Tony was going to RSVP. He stalked lightly around the two pianos separating them, sliding easily onto the bench beside T.J. “Hey there, handsome. Come here often?”

But this time T.J. did not respond. He just kept playing, like Tony wasn’t even there. “You know, you could at least say hello after disappearing for four months. Which was rude, by the way. I’m just saying, you were the one telling me _I_ needed to be prepared and show up on time, and then you just...ditched me.”

There was still no response from T.J. “Hey.” Tony gripped the lid of the keyboard. “Could you please do any little thing to acknowledge me? Twitch your eye, frown intensely, I’m not asking for much. What I’m trying to say is, or actually--trying to express--” When T.J. just kept playing, staring at the keys, Tony lost his temper. “Don’t Rachmaninov me when I’m talking to you!”

Tony started to close the lid on T.J.’s fingers, but he hadn’t moved it an inch when T.J. caught it in an iron grip.

“Are you done having a temper tantrum?” he asked. His voice was soft, but it wasn’t gentle. It was quietly menacing, and made the hairs on Tony’s arms stand on end.

“No!” Tony pouted. Why wouldn’t T.J. look at him? “You disappeared...out of nowhere. I demand an explanation.”

 

*

 

“You want an explanation?” The asset stood. They had rehearsed this for days. “Fine. I’ll give you an explanation. But I need a drink first.”

“No problem,” Stark said easily, so eager to please, he practically leapt from the bench to pour him a scotch. “You want it, we have it. Only the best in every room of this house. Not that we’re all career alcoholics here or anything.” Tony ran back to present him with the tumbler of alcohol, back straight, as though presenting himself for examination. The asset took it, careful not to touch Stark’s skin as he handed off the glass.  

“Speaking of career alcoholics…” The asset sat back easily in one of the large, leather armchairs that dotted the room, toasted Stark before taking a drink. “Maybe there’s one or two of those in my family, too. Maybe grandma can’t recover from a bender like she used to. Maybe she ended up in the hospital this time.”

 

*

 

Tony’s eyes widened. Was T.J. really...sharing? Telling Tony about his own broken home life, his screwed up family? He’d never wanted to hear more. Tony sat forward, wanting to absorb every ounce of it.

“That’s it.” T.J. finished abruptly, with a wave of his glass. “There’s your explanation.”

Tony thought carefully before responding. T.J. hadn’t shared nearly enough for his tastes. Then again, he had, in short order, shared something very personal and painful about his family. Tony licked his lips. “I...never knew my grandparents.” He sat back, taking a deep breath. Thinking about what else to say. “Dad...he was ashamed of his. Kind of disowned them when he made it.” Which was...so horrible now that he thought of it. Why was he sober?

“That’s rough,” T.J. offered. “What about…” He paused, as if searching his memory banks for the correct question. “Your mom’s parents? They still alive?”

Tony let out a little bark of laughter. Not because it was funny, but because he’d learned how to deal with the answer a long time ago. It was really his mom’s pain, not his. “They were at Dachau. You know, the...whadjacallit?--the concentration camp.” Tony watched T.J.’s pupils dilate in shock. It was mean--a little mean. Tony had suppressed the horror so thoroughly, he could forget just how awful that sentence was to hear. “They didn’t make it.”

T.J. was quiet. In a way that was wrong. It was like Tony’s words had shut down his operating system. His glass was empty, but T.J.s hand continued to hold it in a vice grip.

 

~

 

That night, the Howling Commandos met in the mess, like they always did. “What did they say?” Morita spoke first. The idea of those camps was deeply personal to him, and made him terrified for his family, who had been rounded up similarly in California.

Steve clenched his jaw, and Bucky knew the answer. Falsworth, who had the most intel of any of them, looked as grim as Bucky had ever seen him--and something new: he looked ashamed. Ashamed to be part of a world power that chose to win a war instead of saving the lives of the most vulnerable.

Bucky watched Steve’s nostrils flare, and he knew what the plan was. “Colonel Phillips said we’re here to personally escort Hitler to the gates of hell. But I’ll be damned if I let him take any more innocent people with him.” They were going rogue.

“Damn right.” Gabe put his hand in the middle of the table.

Dernier’s was the first one to cover it. “ _Fuck those lying pigs!”_

“I got no idea what he just said,” Dugan added his meaty fist to the pile. “But what he said!” Gabe laughed and pumped his free fist in approval.

Morita clapped his hand over Dum Dum’s, but he wasn’t smiling. His expression was serious as death. “No one gets left behind.”

“No one,” Bucky agreed, joining his hand to the pile created by the team.

Steve nodded his approval. “Suit up. We leave during first watch.”

 

*

 

Nothing, no photos, no horror stories, no amount of intel could have prepared Bucky for what they found at Gradina Donja. The very dignified and always in control James Montgomery Falsworth doubled over, sick. Dernier wept openly into his pipe as he smoked and smoked. Beside him, Jones couldn’t stop shaking his head. “What the hell?” Dum Dum was angry. They all were. The horror came with a whole plethora of other emotions.

“Uncle Sam would never do nothing like this, right? My family--they’re okay, right? Americans know my family are people, not animals--right?” Bucky gripped Jim’s shoulder before he could fall any further down the rabbit hole.

“No way.” Steve shook his head at Morita. “America is incapable of doing something like this. No human being could do this--only--only monsters could do something like this.”

But Bucky wasn’t so sure.  

 

~

 

Back in 1991, T.J. suddenly snapped back to life, hopping off the piano bench and pressing his glass into Tony’s hand. “Sorry, I just remembered. Gotta go.”

“Wait!” When T.J. walked toward the door, Tony was right behind him. “We didn’t even have a lesson! You just barely got here!”

“Sorry, kid.” T.J. grabbed his coat, scarf, briefcase, and walked swiftly toward the exit.

 _Kid?!_ Tony was outraged. Why did T.J. keep calling him that? T.J. was maybe five years older than he was.

“Tony!” That was his father’s roar from down the hall. Tony froze like a deer in headlights. Oddly, T.J. stopped, too. “Anthony Edward Stark, you had better not be smoking in my house!” Tony’s eyes bugged out in fear, pleading with T.J. for rescue. He’d known this would happen. His father always found things out eventually.

It wasn’t even a second, and T.J. was sprinting for the window, suddenly transformed into the world’s fastest man. “What?” Tony followed more slowly, unable to believe his eyes as T.J. pried open 12 foot high windows that had never opened in Tony’s lifetime, and lifted himself through the gap, swiftly and easily, as if he were bending over to tie his shoes.

Was T.J. also a gymnast? Tony’s imagination ran wild. At least, until he heard his father outside the doors. “Answer me, boy!” Tony pulled himself up to the windowsill and threw himself over the edge into some very uncomfortable bushes. “Oof!”

Hearing his father enter the room behind him, Tony ran for the safety of the trees. He made it a few minutes later, covered in sweat, and breathing hard. But there was no sign of T.J. He’d vanished like a ghost.  

 

*

  
The asset didn’t tell his master that he’d remembered something this time. A second wipe would cost them the mission, and reprogramming _hurt_. His master didn’t have to know, and the asset was an expert at compartmentalization. He wouldn’t think of that memory again. At least, not until he’d accomplished his mission.


	6. Atlas Shrugged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At Tony's next lesson, he and T.J. talk about what it's like to be celebrity sons. Tony finally convinces T.J. to take a chance with him, but when the time comes, things don't go according to anyone's plan.

Tony couldn’t say how, but he knew that T.J. would come back this time. So he spent the week devising his strategy. He’d enjoyed their time a lot more when they were just talking instead of playing the piano. ( _Sorry, mom_ ). Maybe he could guide things in that direction. Tony made lists of things to talk about, going over them meticulously to eliminate any disturbing subjects that might cause T.J. to bolt again. No one wants to talk about the Holocaust. That one was a no-brainer. Unfortunately, Tony’s mouth tended to get ahead of his brain at times. So he planned and he practiced.

When next Thursday came, Tony let T.J. enter the conservatory early. Howard had torn out all of the carpets, scraped off the wallpaper, and employed industrial blowers to get the cigarette smell out of the room. Now it smelled of construction instead of smoke (though in Tony’s opinion, it had never smelled like smoke to begin with--but his father liked dramatics). With the exception of the two grand pianos inside, the room was a far cry from glamorous.

Tony hid in the kitchen, watching T.J. in the conservatory over the security system while he waited for the coffee to brew. Jarvis was outside working in the garden, and Ana had left to run errands, so he had the whole place to himself. Maybe Tony couldn’t cook, but he could make coffee. It was hard to wait--what if T.J. grew impatient and left?

Tony heaved a sigh of relief as T.J. began to play. He gave it another two minutes, grabbing the first mugful of coffee that came out before pattering down the hall in a plain pullover and sweatpants--not the ones he’d slept in, but basically the same outfit. When he slipped in, T.J. was finishing what sounded like a torch song. “Why do I feel like Marlene Dietrich should be lying across the top of the piano?”

“I wouldn’t say no to that,” T.J. quipped back with the bare hint of a smile. Okay, good. This was kind of like flirting. Tony patted himself on the back. Then he realized what T.J. was playing accompaniment to, and his heart leapt into his throat. “[Embraceable You](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FEW5qMhVrn8&list=PLpke0seXZF1sN7rrQOa4eptoZObLAKZN7&index=9)”--that was a sign, right? But he did his best to play it cool.

“What, more Gershwin?” Tony asked.

“What’s wrong with Gershwin?” T.J. said.

“Nothing.” Tony shrugged, taking a sip of his coffee and burning his mouth. Ouch. “I just didn’t know you were so into the music of my people.”

T.J. quirked an eyebrow but kept playing. “Your people?”

Tony slid onto the bench next to him, leaning playfully against T.J. “My people. You know…” He lay his head on T.J.’s shoulder, whispering. “Gays.”

T.J. snorted a laugh and lost his concentration. “You’re funny, Stark.”

“I know.” Tony gave T.J. his smoulder. Was it working?

“Pour me a drink, huh?”

Tony hopped up. “Sure. What’s your poison? Another Scotch?”

“Surprise me.” T.J. went back to the piano, but he was really just playing around now, improvising in the key of G.

Digging around, Tony found champagne hidden in the fridge under the bar. _What the hell?_ Shrugging, he went with it. Oddly, there were no champagne glasses under the bar, so he was forced to grab a margarita glass instead. When Tony reappeared at the piano, T.J. looked up at him, still playing. “What, you’re not gonna join me?”

“With coffee,” Tony offered, raising his treasured Beetlejuice mug.

“Come on. That makes me feel like a lush.”

Tony slid back onto the bench next to T.J., leaning forward on one hand, flirtatiously. “I am a lush, if that makes you feel any better. Only sometimes I prefer coffee.”

“I guess that’s fair.” T.J. had an adorable boyish smile. Brief, but addictive. Tony wanted to make him do it again.

“So, what made you take up teaching piano? A guy like you must have a lot of other options.”

T.J. stopped playing and hung his head, looking dismayed. “You figured out who I am.”

Tony shrugged. “It’s not like you tried that hard. Didn’t even change your name.”

T.J. sighed and turned to face Tony. “Go ahead.”

“What?” Tony’s heart started to beat faster. Was T.J. giving him an opening? Literally?

“Ask me. Everyone has some burning question they want to ask the great T.J. Hammond.”

“Will you have sex with me?” Tony blurted. _Oh, mouth. What did you get us into this time?_

But T.J. surprised him. He laughed, taking a drink of his champagne. “Yep.” T.J.’s eyebrow flicked up just for a split second. “That’s one of ‘em.”

“I wish I got asked that question more,” Tony said, leaning back and gripping the edge of the bench. “But I’m Howard Stark’s son. Mostly people want to know what secret project my dad is working on next, or if I’ll share my drugs.”

The corner of T.J.’s mouth quirked up in a grin. “Do you?”

“Usually.” Tony nodded. “It’s a good way to make friends.”

“Is it?” T.J. looked at him then, and it was like the first time for Tony. It felt like those ice blue eyes were piercing his soul.

“S-sorry. You’re probably in rehab. Or just out, or whatever. Guess I’m a bad influence.”

T.J. shrugged and polished off his champagne. “Hey, I’m the last person to be telling anyone not to do drugs.”

“Still, it’s poor taste or something, right?” For just a second, Tony had an awful idea. Like Grinch-scale awful. What if he ran and got his party pack? The two of them could get high together and fuck with abandon. There was nothing like fucking when you were high--as long as it was a good high.

But no. That would be evil. Like for real evil. T.J. had been in the hospital with more than one drug overdose. And those were just the ones that had made the news--Tony knew from personal experience there were always more that responsible parents like Howard (and probably T.J.’s mom) paid to have covered up.

“Listen. I’m sorry.” Tony reached out and put a hand on T.J.’s knee. Why did he choose his knee? Well, to be fair, T.J. had been doing arpeggio exercises with his hands and arms. T.J. stopped, suddenly. “Uh...yeah.” Tony took his hand back. _Too forward, Stark_. “Let’s talk about something else.”

 

*

 

The asset’s first reaction to being grabbed was always violence. No one touched him unless it was necessary to the mission, yet everyone touched him without his permission. He hated it. But it was not for him to choose. He was not a person; he was the asset. A thing. A tool. The Fist of Hydra.

He closed his eyes to reset his programming, return his focus to the mission. His target had given him an opening. Maybe the best opening he could have asked for. He swallowed hard, knowing what he had to do.

 

*

 

“Um.” Tony’s mind was spiraling out of control. What were conversation topics? What was conversation? _Mayday! Mayday!_ “Do you like music?” Well, that was an unintelligent thing to ask. Tony immediately kicked himself.

T.J.’s eyes were intense. Was it anger? Lust? Murderous intent? Tony honestly couldn’t tell. He was simultaneously scared to death and turned on. And then T.J. whispered, “Why don’t we pretend I’m not your piano teacher?”

Tony blinked. He couldn’t have heard that right. He blinked again. Then Tony realized it wasn’t his eyes that’d heard T.J. say that. "Okay." No, he was still in shock. Tony suddenly realized he hadn't accurately expressed his eagerness at T.J.'s suggestion. “Hell fucking yes!” he whispered back. Did T.J. understand he was interested? Because Tony was. So interested. Possibly the most interested he’d ever been in anyone.

“Leave your bedroom window open tonight,” T.J. told him in that same growling whisper. “I’ll be there if you will.”

“I will!” Tony nearly shouted. “I mean, I will,” he said in a more normal tone of voice, his heart trying to hammer its way out of his chest. “I so will. Believe me. I will be.”

T.J. smirked at his over-eagerness and slid off the bench, picking up his things. All he said was, “Till next time.” And then he walked out, leaving Tony with the throbbingest boner he’d ever had. He was afraid it was going to tear his pants.

Tony took his time, breathing, getting himself back under control, letting T.J. leave with dignity. Then Tony allowed himself a little victory strut. Aw, yeah. He was going to fuck T.J. In only four-ish lessons, he’d managed to seduce his piano teacher. Was that a bad thing? Probably. But Tony was much more interested in sleeping with T.J. than pretending he cared about music more than he did just to get pseudo-dates out of his hot teacher.

Tony spent the rest of the day see-sawing back and forth between blind panic and euphoria, occasionally interrupted by inexplicable first-time jitters. This wasn’t his first time. It wasn’t even his first hundredth time. It made no sense. Tony cleaned and rearranged his room, picked out new sheets, changed his mind ten times, went through twenty scented candles and then realized he only had two hours before nightfall. Tony raced through his toilette, fixed his hair seven different ways and hated all of them. He thought cologne would be a good idea, then changed his mind as soon as it was on and had to shower all over again. He tried eyeliner. _Too much_. And then came the clothes. Tony could not decide what to wear--or not to wear.

Finally it was dark, and there was nothing left to do but pace back and forth in front of the window. He tried to play it cool, but Tony couldn’t sit still for longer than ten seconds. He felt like he was going insane. Hour after hour went by, and he started to lose confidence. Had T.J. set him up? Had he chickened out?

Tony ate half of a special brownie in order to calm down. Then he lost track of time. He might have fallen asleep. He might have been dreaming. T.J. was standing over him, shirtless. “Woooooow.”

“Are you high?” T.J. did not sound impressed.

“Nah, ‘sjust a little THC.” Tony didn’t consider MJ a drug, just as he didn’t consider alcohol a drug.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” T.J. growled, turning away and grabbing his shirt off the floor. “I come all the way here, basically throw my job away, and I find you like this?” He jerked his shirt over his head. “You need help, Tony. And lemme tell you: that means something coming from me.”

“No, no!” Tony fell out of bed. For some reason his feet wouldn’t work. “I need **you**. I want **you**. Please don’t go!” He latched onto T.J.’s ankles so he couldn’t leave.

“You’re a mess. Let go of me, or I’ll make you start coming to NA meetings with me.”

“Pleeeeeeease,” Tony begged, hugging T.J.’s calves. “Blow job?”

“Get real, kid.” How was T.J. dragging him toward the window like Tony weighed nothing? “I bet you $100 you can’t even get it up right now.”

Tony whimpered and whined. There was a 50% chance T.J. was right, he knew. But that hadn’t been what he’d meant. “No, you. Blowjob for.” When T.J. paused, Tony thought he had him. Instead, T.J. bent down and picked him up like a rag doll, carrying him over to his bed and starting to tuck Tony in. “No!” Tony tried to flail, but his mellow would not allow it. “No, blowjob!”

“If you lie down and shut your mouth, I’ll stay.” Tony quickly quieted and lay perfectly still. “There.” T.J. finished tucking him in before walking around to the other side of the bed and stripping down. Tony watched in awe. He was beautiful; every inch of him. Tony rolled onto his side, facing T.J. and waited. When he slid under the blankets, Tony began to inch toward him, needing to feel T.J.’s body heat.

“You dumbass,” T.J. huffed, when Tony got close enough to smell him. “Who told you to get stoned tonight?”

“I was nervous,” Tony whined, burrowing into T.J.’s broad chest.

“You’re crazy,” T.J. scolded gently.

“You make me crazy,” Tony countered, sliding his arms around T.J. and breathing him in. He didn’t smell the way Tony had expected him to smell, of honey and sunlight and expensive cologne. No, T.J. smelled cold. Like metal and ice and loneliness. Could you smell loneliness? Maybe it was just Tony’s stoned brain being creative. “I love you,” he sighed, nuzzling T.J.’s chest and wrapping around him with all four limbs.

“What?” T.J. sounded horrified.

Tony was a little embarrassed. He’d said it out of instinct. That was what he wanted to hear whenever **he** felt lonely. “You’re...sexy,” he corrected, hoping T.J. would forgive him.

“No I’m not,” T.J. sighed, sounding annoyed.

“You are,” Tony insisted, his face pressed against T.J.’s bare skin. “You’re hotter than the top of the Chrysler building in July. Hotter than Nashville hot chicken. Hotter than...soup.” Tony had so much more to say, but he was starting to drift a little.

“...are you hungry?”

Okay, that had been too many food analogies. “Maybe a little.” But not enough to get out of bed.  

T.J. sighed. “Just go to sleep, Tony.”

“But I don’t wanna!” Tony whined, his palms sliding down T.J.’s muscular back to rest against the curve of his backside.

T.J. gripped Tony’s wrists and moved his hands back up. “It’s what you need.”

“You’re what I need,” Tony said, rubbing his cheek against T.J.’s smooth chest.

“No I’m not,” T.J. said softly, and his tone was different. Too serious. Maybe...sad.

“I want you be happy,” Tony slurred. He looked up at T.J. “You deserve to be happy.”

“No I don’t.” Such weight behind those words.

“I’ll carry it,” Tony told him, feeling like a naive child peering into the darkness behind T.J.’s eyes.  

“I don’t think we’re having the same conversation anymore.” Tony felt T.J. shift, try to settle more comfortably against the pillows.

“The world,” Tony explained. “I’ll help you carry it. Atlas.” He pushed himself up and kissed T.J.’s cheek. Tony needed him to know. He wasn’t alone. They had each other now.

T.J. was quiet for too long after that, his body stiff and uncomfortable against Tony. “You’re high,” T.J. breathed and slowly relaxed, smoothing Tony’s hair back from his face. “Go to sleep.”

“Only if you stay,” Tony mumbled, half asleep already.

“Fine.” But he didn’t sound happy about it. “I’ll stay.”

Tony curled up against him, squeezing T.J. as tight as his arms could hold, and using him as a pillow. “‘night, Atlas.”

“Good night, Icarus.”  

 

*

 

It was hard to say how sound of a sleeper the boy was. Chances were, it would be more sound now, in his altered state. The asset waited as long as he could stand it before squirming out of Tony’s grasp. It was no easy task. Finally, he had to substitute a large stuffed toy for his own body. And Tony slept, clinging to it like a small child. 

He couldn’t come back here. They would most certainly have to wipe him again. He couldn’t do this anymore. Not after that.  

It was for the best. Somehow, it had to be. If he left and never came back, it would be. The asset dressed quickly, eager to return to his handlers.


	7. Prometheus Underground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Tony wakes up, Maria has some bad news for him. The Winter Soldier finds he can't return to his handlers; he's in too deep.

“Anthony, my love, wake up.” Ana always started out gently, but her surrogate son was a heavy sleeper when he’d had a little too much fun the night before. “Tony!” Eventually, she always had to get the broom handle. “Anthony Edward Stark!”

Tony was rudely awakened by something hard--and not in a good way--poking him in the back. Poking him so firmly and relentlessly, in fact, that he was close to falling out of bed. How had he gone to sleep holding his stuffed Simba? “Tony, my duck.” Ana could see him slowly returning to consciousness. “Your mother is waiting for you at breakfast.”

Well that couldn’t be good, Tony thought. He sighed, starting to roll out of bed before he realized he was in his underwear. Not that Ana hadn’t seen it before, but still. Why had Tony fallen asleep in his underwear? Slowly, he began to recall bits and pieces of last night.

“I trust you had the good taste to be the only person in your bedroom this morning?” Okay, yeah. She knew Tony hadn’t gone to bed alone. Now if he could just remember what happened...

Tony sat down on the bed, trying to play it cool. “Of course. Jarvis raised me better than that.” He shrugged into the nearest shirt, a blue-striped button down, doing his best to look mildly offended at the suggestion.

“Yes.” She smiled, sweet but vaguely threatening. “We did.” Ana glanced at Tony’s bathroom before slowly backing out. “You have five minutes before I’m back with reinforcements,” she warned, and closed the door behind her.

Alone again, Tony sat on his bed for a few moments, stunned. Had that been real? Had last night actually happened? Slightly paranoid after Ana’s threat, he rushed to his private bath, but there was no dream boy there. It had happened, though. Right?

Tony stood, trying to piece together what he could remember. There were big blank patches in what seemed to have been a pretty intimate evening. Very disappointing. Knowing his time was running out, Tony washed quickly and was finally combed, dressed, and ready to meet his mother by Ana’s deadline.

“A good choice, young master Stark.” Ana greeted him with a wink as he emerged from his room.

“Anything under duress,” he grinned, giving her a kiss on the cheek before running down the hall. Tony felt fantastic! Even if he couldn’t remember all of it, he’d slept with T.J. That much he knew. Today, the world was a wonderful place. The sun was shining, breakfast smelled amazing, and his father was nowhere to be seen.

“Hey, mom!” She must have been going out to one of her ladies’ brunches today. Maria was dressed to the nines and fully made-up, something she did not always do when Howard was away. Tony was smiling brightly, on his way to kiss her good morning, when he noticed the look on her face. Pinched. Disappointed. He racked his brain for what bad news could have caught up with him this time.

“Anthony, you know I don’t always agree with your father.” Oh god, this sounded bad. “But I feel like something happened that you haven’t told me about. And I hope you’ll be honest with me.”

“I’m always honest with you,” Tony lied. It was a knee-jerk reaction. He would do anything for his mom, but he didn’t like to hurt her with unnecessary truths. She gave him a hard look, and he added, “when you ask me to.”

She moved a piece of toast around her plate, mopping up a runny egg yolk with disinterest. “I got a call from your music tutor this morning…” Tony’s heart froze. That meant either something very very good--like T.J. called to ask for his hand in marriage--or very very bad. Like way too much truth bad.

“What, this morning? But it’s Friday.”

“I don’t see what that has to do with anything. Please don’t try to change the subject, dear.”

“No, I just meant…” Tony had grabbed the edge of the linen table cloth and was twisting it around and around in nervous fingers. “What’s the emergency? He could have waited until Monday, right?”

“Well, that’s the point.” She looked down at her plate, but she may as well have leveled those olive green eyes on him, her look of disappointment was so intense. Inside, Tony began to wilt. “What happened at your lesson yesterday?” Then she did look at him, and Tony thought he might cry.

“You mean...besides the lesson? It was a great lesson, by the way. Lots of Gershwin. You should’ve been there--”

“Jarvis said he found a dirty margarita glass.” Her look got harder.

“Come on, Mom. I’m not the only person in this house who likes to have a drink with breakfast now and then.”

“Anthony, you are 18 years old.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Oh, _come_ on.” His mother knew he drank. It was everything else that made her nervous.

“Would you just listen to me all the way through before you start to argue? Your father does the same thing.”

There was literally nothing worse anyone could say to Tony than to compare him to Howard. He clenched his jaw and waited.

“You’re legal to drink in more civilized parts of the world. You’re an adult, and I respect your right to do it. But, sweetheart.” Her look of concern hurt more somehow than her look of disappointment. “It’s not appropriate to drink with your teachers.”

There was a lot Tony wanted to say. But he was more afraid of what she was going to say. He bit the inside of his cheek. “Is that what he said?”

“No, sweetheart.” She reached out to him across the table, but she was literally chairs away. Her hand just lay on the table cloth, the asteroid of a diamond his father had used to propose to her glittering in the dim morning light coming through the blinds. “T.J. won’t be coming back. He resigned.”

Tony felt like he’d been stabbed. “Oh.” And like he was going to throw up. “You know I just forgot something? Sorry--I’ll be right back.” Tony ran for the garden door as fast as he could go. Outside, he kept running, through the garden, into the woods, down the long trail, all the way to the pond Howard kept stocked with trout and bass year round, in case they wanted to fake some father son time.

Tony sat down on the small dock, stuck his fists against his eyes and wept, as softly and calmly as he could. This was terrible. Yes, part of him had known this might happen if he had his way with T.J., and other parts of him had not cared. But now that it had happened, Tony wished he’d had more restraint. The idea of not seeing T.J. ever again hurt. Far more than he’d expected. It was just one more abandonment to add to a long list.

 

*

 

The asset had not returned to Hydra. Having fulfilled the most deeply violating part of his mission, he found a strong desire not to return to his master. He felt...tainted. Tony’s heartfelt words had ripped him open from stem to stern, and the asset felt as though he’d been suspended from a mountain for birds to feast on his internal organs. He couldn’t close the wound, and he didn’t have the tools to heal it. This was a pain like none he could remember. The asset wasn’t certain even a full wipe could cure it.

But what could he do? His master must have known this might happen. The entire mission had been incredibly high-risk, so why had he chosen to put the asset in this position? Was it yet another experiment? More than likely, it was a test of his obedience. Why should he remain loyal to those who seemed to enjoy finding new ways to make him suffer? Over time, he’d gone numb, managed to tune out everything but completing the mission, but this. Somehow they’d found the last thing he could still feel. And the asset resented it. Deeply. He would not return.

It had begun now, this game of cat and mouse that he always played with his handlers when he escaped or refused to return after a mission. Perhaps that would distract them from their goal. Perhaps if they were too busy tracking down and re-taking the asset, Hydra would leave Tony Stark alone. Perhaps. It was the only gift he could give the boy. He would do his best to avoid capture this time, to be as distracting to his handlers as he could. Maybe it would make a difference.


	8. Someone To Watch Over Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony decides not to give up. He keeps up with the piano in hopes that T.J. will return. 
> 
> The Winter Soldier can't stay away from Tony, but he knows he won't be able to delay Hydra's plans forever. It's time to say goodbye.

When Tony was done crying, he found himself strangely optimistic. Sure, T.J. had quit his job and left, but he’d disappeared once before and come back. Maybe the same thing would happen this time. There was really no reason why it shouldn’t. No one knew they’d slept together except the two of them. They could have whatever sort of relationship T.J. wanted now. Tony would always want more, but he could settle for less if it meant seeing that handsome face once a week, talking about their dysfunctional families, about their shared addictions…

So Tony kept up his Thursday routine. He’d wake up early and go to the conservatory and play his birthday piano and think of T.J., remembering the handful of times they’d spent there together. To distract from missing T.J., Tony spent more and more time in his workshop. As loneliness was sort of a recurring theme lately, he built Dum-E a friend. And when Tony felt especially low, he’d return to the piano and play some Gershwin. Sometimes he’d even sing. Why not? It’s not like anyone was listening.

 

*

 

The asset knew he should have been leading Hydra on a grand chase across the globe. But there was one problem with that: if he left the U.S., there was no guarantee Hydra wouldn’t continue their plan to infiltrate, separate, seduce and subdue the Starks. The asset knew what it was Hydra really wanted from the family, and he knew they would do anything to get it. Anything, including killing every last member of the family. 

That meant if he ran, he was leaving them completely unprotected, and ignorant of their imminent danger. So the asset ran, but he returned. Again and again, he returned to check in on his mark. It didn’t make sense. He knew it was dangerous, but he couldn’t let it go. Perhaps that ultra-compartmentalized part of his brain just couldn’t release a mark before he’d completed his mission. And that was disturbing: the idea that he would somehow be forced to carry out his mission even though he’d actively chosen to abandon it. He couldn’t trust himself, yet it was paramount to his continued existence that he be able to trust himself, trust his instincts.

That night, his mark was in the room where they’d met time and time again. The asset watched from cover, forced to listen as [Tony’s voice drifted out the open window](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R0qWWNDhK7M&list=PLpke0seXZF1sN7rrQOa4eptoZObLAKZN7&index=11&t=0s) to the garden.

“There’s a somebody I’m longing to see, I hope that he turns out to be...”

It was hell. Sheer hell inside his head. And caused an almost immediate identity dysphoria. Was this his body? The asset held out his hands. No, that was wrong. He did not have two hands of flesh. One hand had been taken from him long ago. Or had it?

“I’m a little lamb who’s lost in the wood…”

No, he had to end this. This would not do, this unnatural attachment to a mark, it could only end one way. It had to. He reached for his glock. And stopped. Instead, the asset bent to pluck a fistful of gravel from the garden walk. Then he stood, tossing it gently at the windows.

The playing stopped.

 

*

 

Tony had been into his performance. So into it, in fact, that he hadn’t registered the noise as anything but rain against the windows at first. But this was California. It never rained. He stopped playing and walked to the open window. Tony's shoes crunched on the floor, and he looked down to see a few pieces of gravel had come through. Inexplicably, he ran to the sill, heart racing. Tony was afraid to call out, but he squinted into the darkness, hoping against hope.

 

*

 

The asset watched him come, knowing what he had to do. Tony was so vulnerable, it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. “I don’t want to do this.” 

 

*

 

Tony’s eyes focused on the shape lurking out there, standing still as death. “Do what?” he asked softly. 

A strip of light from the window fell across T.J.’s eyes. They were those of an animal in pain. “I don’t remember.”

“Then I guess you’d better not do it, then.” Somehow, Tony knew the “it” T.J. was talking about was something he would hate. Something awful, that should be prevented at all costs. “You already left me,” he pointed out. Tony’s mind couldn’t go much worse than what had already happened.

“I tried,” T.J. said. His chest heaved, as though he were having trouble breathing.

“Does that mean you’re back?” The bluebird of hope began to awaken in Tony’s breast.

“No. No, I have to leave.” But T.J. looked deeply distraught about it. Tony would have that, at least. It wouldn’t be enough, but it was something.

Tony clambered out of the window. It wasn’t glamorous, but it only cost him a little embarrassment to be standing outside with the man he loved. “Why?” A pit was opening up in Tony’s solar plexus. He felt like he was falling into it. 

“Because you’re not safe if I’m here.” That sounded ominous. Or like a load of b.s.

“I don’t wanna be safe if you’re not here.” In fact, Tony had committed the last few years of his life to not being safe in general. It would be an easy habit to return to.

“Please don’t say that.” T.J. started to reach for him, though they were yards apart.

Tony saw it as an invitation to move closer. “I wanna be wherever you are.” He leaned his head against T.J.’s shoulder. “Please. I don’t care if it’s dangerous.”

 

*

 

The asset’s cheeks were wet, and his throat ached. “I wish I could protect you. But that’s not what I was made for.”

“Made for?” Tony looked up.

“Please don’t ask me any questions.”

“Listen, whatever kind of trouble you’re in, I can help you.” Tony was so naive. How could the asset not protect him?

“No one can help me.”

 

*

 

“That’s kind of melodramatic, don’t you think, Gloria?” 

“I don’t know what that means.”

No one could say stuff like this with a straight face. Tony knew when he was being fed a line. “Fine. You’re a tortured soul forced to live in darkness. And I’m just supposed to accept that’s the reason why we can’t be together.”

“You don’t have to accept anything.”

Why was T.J. being so nice about this? It was pissing Tony off. “Look, just go. Just. Stop looking at me like that with your tortured wolf eyes and go. That’s obviously what you want.”

T.J. gave Tony one last look of anguish and disappeared into the night. Literally. Tony hadn’t even seen him move, yet suddenly he was gone. Tony inhaled deeply before letting out a primal scream. It wasn’t fair.


	9. Enter the Cavalry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Winter Soldier decides to test Hydra's heal time by cutting off one of its heads. A blast from the past derails his plans.

There had to be a way. The asset studied the problem like a puzzle to solve. Like a mark hidden behind layers and layers of security, who could still be shot with a single bullet, if he could just calculate the exact point in time, the exact angle of impact.

Instead of running as he always had, he found those who were on the hunt for him, and he tracked them. Observed them. Learned their methods and routines. Hydra seemed to be withdrawing from their plan for the Starks for now. His master returned to his life, full time in the capitol. The asset kept his distance, but he did follow, watching and listening.

_Cut off one head, two more shall take its place._

The asset tried to estimate Hydra’s healing time. Just how fast was it? If he cut off his master’s head, would the organization even remember the Starks? Choosing to find out in high risk fashion, the asset disabled the security--all of the security--on Pierce’s house in Virginia. Whether he was capable of killing his master of several decades, he didn’t know. Right now it was all or nothing.  

Crossing the darkened living room, the asset came face to face with a .38. How could he have become distracted?

“Stand down.”

 

~

 

“But Peggy--”

“I said stand down, Captain. Don’t make me repeat myself.” Bucky, Dum Dum, and Gabe all lowered their weapons.

As Agent Carter approached the woman crouched on the floor, Steve tried to get between them. “You don’t know what she’s capable of!” Morita and Falsworth lay unconscious on the floor at the back of the lab as confirmation of Steve’s warning.

Peggy turned on Steve, then, furious. “And you clearly don’t know my capabilities, as you continue to ignore my orders and get in my way!”

Jacques made a whistling sound, and Gabe elbowed him. Bucky glanced over at them, intending to cast a ‘hush up’ look, but instead had to choke back laughter at the expression on Jacques’ face. The only married commando, he seemed to find it hilarious how whipped Peggy had Steve. Maybe it was fellow feeling.

Peggy was kneeling down beside the older woman, speaking quietly with her in German. “What’s she saying?” Bucky asked Gabe.

“That we’re all a bunch of assholes.”

“She’s not wrong,” Dugan said.

“I’m gonna check on Jim and Monty.” Bucky wasn’t a medic, but it didn’t feel right to just leave them lying there now the immediate threat had been neutralized. In the last few weeks, the commandos had gotten pretty good at patching one another up, when it was needed.

“Seven armed men surrounding one woman is never necessary. Do you understand me, Captain?” Peggy was not yet done with Steve.

“But she was--”

“Never.” Agent Carter turned her back on Steve, supporting the captive German scientist on one shoulder as they walked out. Watching her go, Steve came to stand behind Bucky, looking like a kicked puppy.

“Help me with these guys, huh?” Bucky asked him. “Jim may look small, but he’s like a ton of bricks.”

“Sure.” Steve was happy for something else to focus on. But Peggy was never far from his thoughts, Bucky knew.

 

~

 

Although her countenance had been obscured by tiny wrinkles and crow’s feet, and her hair had turned a platinum shade of silver, the asset still recognized her. He couldn’t say how he knew her, but he did, in spite of his untrustworthy and incomplete memories.

At the sight of the asset, the old woman cried out softly and dropped her gun. “Bucky?”

The asset grabbed her and exited through the skylight as Pierce came out to investigate the noise. “How did you get here?” the assassin asked her.

Still visibly shaken, the woman pointed to a car parked down the street. The asset nodded. “I’ll get you there. Just wait till he’s distracted.” It didn’t take long. Pierce found the bodies of his SHIELD security detail first.

Safely away, the asset waited for the woman to climb into her car, but instead, she crouched down behind it. He did the same. Maybe she knew about surveillance he didn’t. “Don’t ever come here again without his invitation,” the asset warned her. “I’m serious.” He knew her, somehow, and he had to protect her.

“Step away from her.” There was a 9mm against the back of his head. The asset had heard the second woman approaching, and he hadn’t cared. He could easily take two armed women if he had to; he just didn’t want to this time.

“Agent, drop your weapon immediately!” Nothing changed. But the asset watched the old woman’s eyes soften. “May, please. You’re threatening to shoot one of my oldest and dearest friends.” The pressure of the gun disappeared, but the asset felt light-headed. He had an old and dear friend? He couldn’t remember, but hearing her say it felt right somehow.

“She has the right instincts,” the asset told his friend, gravely. “I’m not who you think I am.”

“What nonsense! Both of you get in at once. We’re all better-trained than to lurk about here in the street.” And with that, she disappeared underneath the car.

A young, dark-haired woman stepped out from behind him and slipped under the car next. Bending down, he could see the hole in the street.  “Well, come on, then!” the older woman called back. “We haven’t got all day.”

He climbed down after them, having a bit more trouble maneuvering his bulk under the car. The hole had rungs to climb down, like a manhole, but the space underneath was no sewer. A bullet-shaped car sat waiting on a magnetic track, and the women were already inside. The asset climbed reluctantly into the passenger’s seat. Why were they trusting him not to kill them? “This is wrong.”

“I hardly need you to tell me that,” his friend snapped, and the car came to life, shooting down the track with unthinkable speed. When they reached their secret headquarters, they were joined by a second older woman.

"It really is you." The young woman was staring at him, and the asset tried not to squirm in his chair.

"He's more handsome than you said," the second older woman remarked. 

"Ladies, stay on task, please." The British woman served tea with milk. "There will be time for all of that later." She sat down across from him once everyone had their tea. "Now, Sergeant, if you wouldn't mind telling us what you were doing in Under Secretary Pierce's home tonight?" The asset ignored the cup in front of him and explained why he’d been gunning for Alexander Pierce. “I knew that man couldn’t be trusted. He’s far too handsome and altruistic,” his friend said.

“You just know better than to trust the men in SHIELD,”  the other old woman said, taking the British woman's hand.

“Right then.” His friend pulled out a blueprint of the Stark mansion and smoothed it open on the table. “If Hydra is targeting Howard and his son, then it’s time we intervene.”

“You...you’re going to help me?” The asset couldn’t believe it. He had no emotional frame of reference for what was happening.

“Actually, Sergeant Barnes, you’re going to be helping us.” The asset felt strange being called that. Like trying on an old wool sweater that had shrunk in the wash, it was itchy and no longer fit. But there was no time to think about that, because she launched into outlining her plan for saving the Starks. “Do you understand what you must do?” she asked him, finally.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I don’t know about this, English.” The older woman with the American accent looked worried for his friend.

‘English’ took America’s hands in her own. “Do you trust me, Angie?”

“Always.”

The asset looked away. This was an emotional exchange that was beyond not his business. Agent May wasn’t looking either; she busied herself making calculations based on the blueprints on the table.

“If you don’t trust him, then trust me,” English said. “Trust the team.”

Angie still sounded hesitant. “Oh, alright. You sweet-talked me into it.” The asset hid his eyes. He could not see this. “Aw, that’s so cute! He’s shy.”

“You two are not,” Agent May deadpanned.

“I doubt he’s seen much affection over the years he’s been held captive.” The asset felt a hand on his shoulder and peeped through his fingers. “Do they have a name for you?”

“I don’t have a name,” he told English, feeling awkward about the fact for the first time in decades.

“Bullocks!”

“That’s what you’re naming him?” Angie looked horrified.

English glanced at the asset. “The dangers of having a weakness for blondes.”

“Hey! I heard that!”

May hid a smirk as she loaded up on ammo.

“Yes, well. There's no time to waste.” English nodded at the asset. “You have your orders.” And that was that.


	10. Jarvis Interruptus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As both Peggy's special agents and Hydra move in on Tony, conflict is inevitable. To add to the chaos, Tony's not about to blindly cooperate with anyone if he can't see their face.

Tony’s parents were away on one of their “romantic getaways,” which usually meant dad was getting some work in at the Pentagon before they hit the Florida Keys for some nude sunbathing on the yacht. _Gross._

Traditionally, Tony would throw a multi-day bacchanal on such occasions. And it was probably time he got back to being his normal self. T.J. had left for good, and yeah, that made Tony feel empty and horrible inside, but he was also pissed that T.J. had come back just to say goodbye. Besides, there was no better way to fill the well of loneliness than booze and orgies. But that was tomorrow.

Tonight was just Tony home alone. He’d asked Jarvis and Ana to do something special for themselves, and as it was their anniversary, they’d agreed for once. After midnight, Tony wandered around the house in his t-shirt and boxers, trying to remember what he’d left the workshop to do. _Food. Right._

But as he passed through the dining room to the kitchen, the power suddenly went out. _What the hell?_ Through the dim light that came in through tall windows, Tony saw a shadow at the end of the table. Which was terrifying. He was supposed to be here alone. “J? Is that you?”

The shadow rushed at him, and an iron grip clamped down on Tony’s throat. He couldn’t scream. Or breathe. When he was thrown into the nearest chair, Tony doubled over, coughing. “Just who the hell do you think you are? Do you know how many security systems this place has?”

“Not anymore,” the asset told him coldly. His voice was slightly muffled by the mask covering his nose and mouth.

“What do you want? Money? Blueprints? Well sorry, pal, Howard Stark isn’t stupid enough to keep those in his home safe.”

“You’re not trying very hard to live,” the asset observed.

“Get out of my house, you jerk!” Even as he was charging the guy, Tony couldn’t say why he was doing it. There was nothing he cared about here enough to risk his safety. Well, Dum-E and U, but everything else he cared about was out for the night. Mostly he just didn’t like being pushed around; it reminded him too much of boarding school.

A strong hand shoved him back into the chair, and Tony thought he heard something snap. He curled in on himself, trying to choke back a whimper. _My hand! Crap!_

“Where is serum?” Was he reverting back or was this an act? The asset didn’t even know.

“Paddling down the Hudson with Moose and Squirrel. How the hell should I know?”

 

*

 

“What the hell is he doing?” the first Hydra agent asked the second.

“Trying to complete the mission?” The second checked the surveillance cameras inside the Stark house. “By roughing up the kid?”

“This was never the mission. I’m calling Father Goose.”

 

*

 

May watched the Hydra operatives converge on the Stark mansion from the roof of the Mansfield mansion down the street. “Looks like they took the bait, Carter.”

“Of course they did,” came the prim reply. “Proceed with phase 2.”

“Copy.”

 

*

 

There was a problem with phase 2. His name was Tony. “Listen to me, goddammit!” Swearing felt strange to the asset. Like it was something he should have been doing all along.

“Put that notebook down and get out of here!” Tony demanded, aiming the gun at his assailant’s head.

“We have bigger problems right now than petty theft.”

“YOU do!” Tony grabbed the wall phone and dialed 911. Nothing happened.

“Do you honestly think I would cut the power and not the phone lines?”

"Incoming, five agents with automatic weapons." The first Hydra operatives were in place and opened fire. The asset wasn’t expecting them to be so reckless with their prize, but Agent May's warning gave him just enough time to throw himself at Tony, shielding him with his own body from any stray bullets. To his credit, Tony took a few shots in the dark at their attackers, but they were a waste of ammo. The asset grabbed the uzi from his back and quickly dispatched the operatives in the room. 

“I’m guessing that wasn’t the cavalry.”

“Good guess.” he grunted, bleeding quietly through his vest. “We’ve gotta get out of here.”

“Follow me!” Why Tony had decided they were on the same side all of a sudden, the asset wasn’t sure. But they had less than three minutes before the timer ran out. Tony led him to a small door in the wall, and proceeded to climb in.

“The dumbwaiter?”

“You got any better ideas, Mr. Bond?”

“No, that’ll work.” Tucking the journal into his vest, he grabbed the rope and began to climb.

“I was thinking we’d just ride in the elevator, but okay. Sure. Do it your way.”  

 

*

 

Tony had planned from the start to leave the terrorist assassin behind. But the guy could climb a rope fast. Faster than Tony could make the dumbwaiter go. Maybe if he let the kidnapper get far enough ahead and jumped out on one of the upper floors…

“Anthony?” Jarvis must have been shouting pretty loud for Tony to be able to hear him from inside the shaft.

“Oh god.” It was Tony’s worst nightmare.

“Edwin, put that down! You have no idea how to use it!” Scratch that. Jarvis AND Ana in danger was his worst nightmare.

Tony jumped out at the third floor and sprinted toward the stairs. “Get out! Get out of the house!” But more terrorist assassins blocked his path at the third floor landing. Tony briefly considered leaping the rail. He could probably land safely on the second floor, skip this boss battle all together. But they were too fast. Tony could do little more than struggle with his captors as they grabbed him. “Jarvis!”

A throwing knife sank into the left eye of one of the guys holding him with a disturbing  squelching sound, and he fell to the ground. Tony kicked the second guy in the nuts, and when he hesitated, Tony pushed him over the railing. The third disintegrated in a blinding flash of blue light.

“Sir! Are you alright?”

“J, we’ve gotta get out of here!” Tony grabbed his arm and started towing Jarvis down the stairs.

“The bomb is downstairs.” Tony looked back up to see his kidnapper’s masked face, wide-eyed with panic. “Get to the window!” He threw a thin rope with a grappling hook at Tony and sped past them.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Tony wasn’t sure why he cared. The guy was clearly evil. Good guys didn’t wear kevlar masks and break into people’s homes.

“Get out!” the terrorist shouted back.

“There’s truly a bomb?” Jarvis asked him. And Tony suddenly noticed Jarvis was holding a huge silver gun that was part Buck Rogers, part steampunk. He had to rein in his inner engineer’s curiosity.

“That’s what he says.”

“You go on, young Master Stark. I shall be along presently.” Jarvis pushed Tony toward the picture window at the end of the hall and ran after his kidnapper. “Ana! Ana my darling, where are you?”

Ana?!? She was still here somewhere? Tony dove back down the stairs behind Jarvis.

“Ana!” Tony called out.

“Ana!” Jarvis was desperate to find her in time.

They nearly collided with Tony’s kidnapper, who emerged from the kitchen with the slender woman slung over his shoulder, kicking, clawing at him, screaming, and stabbing him with a kitchen knife. In spite of her best efforts, the terrorist continued hauling her toward the front doors.

“Unhand her, or I’ll shoot!” Jarvis ordered, leveling his space age weapon at the kidnapper.

“Yeah! What he said.” Tony wasn’t exactly hiding behind Jarvis, per se, but only one of them was armed.

“Tony, what the hell?!”

Wait. The kidnapper’s voice sounded familiar all of a sudden. “T.J.?”

The masked man stopped. Maybe he was shocked by Tony’s recognition of him. But he looked like a dog listening for a dog whistle. T.J. grabbed Jarvis’ arm and ran toward the dining room window, hurling first Ana and then Jarvis through the glass like they weighed nothing. Then he turned back, holding out his arms to Tony. “Tony!”

“No way! I want an explanation! What the hell is going on?” But T.J. didn’t answer. He just rushed at Tony and jumped on him, smothering Tony with his body a heartbeat before the whole house exploded around them. The blast blew out Tony’s eardrums. All he knew before he lost consciousness was fire and smoke and painful debris, and something heavy and wet on top of him.

 

*

 

“This is why one never sends a man to do a woman’s job,” Peggy said, as though concluding a lesson.

“Preaching to the choir,” May said. She moved in to extract the survivors via a secret passage. Hydra had to believe Tony and Bucky had died in the blast.


	11. Grateful Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Safely hidden away in one of Peggy's top secret offices, Tony and Bucky have time to recover. They meet more members of Peggy's elite team, and start to envision what their future might look like together.

The asset regained consciousness first. He was about to launch into flight mode--from his surroundings, it was clear they’d caught him again--but then his eyes focused on the person sitting in a hospital chair next to him. She looked familiar. It hurt to try to remember, like each memory was a shard of glass digging into his brain. He winced.

“Welcome back,” she said.

“Do I know you?” he croaked. Every time the asset slept, his recall reset. It was difficult to maintain an old memory from one waking period to another. Right now it was much easier to ask than to try to remember. He didn’t feel scared around the old woman, so that meant she was either a handler or a civilian.

She smiled sadly, and the tiny wrinkles around her mouth multiplied like fractures in fine marble. “You did once.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” She reached out and touched his hand. “Shall I tell you my name?” The asset nodded. Maybe it would help him place her in the jumble of time and space that existed in his head. “You knew me as Agent Carter, but Steve called me Peggy.”

It jarred him, and he started against his pillows. An intense pain followed. He couldn’t tell if it was physical, mental, or something else. “Who’s Steve?”

Peggy looked sadder still. Her soft fingers squeezed his, gently. “Did they take even Steve from you?” She shook her head. “Monsters.”

“Is Steve…” His face hurt. “Here?”

“No.” Grief. The asset knew that expression. He’d been taught to recognize human emotions in the lab. “Steve gave his life to save us.”

He had to sit with that sentence. It hurt. Something about all of this hurt more than words could ever express. “But I’m so glad you’re back.” Peggy stood and leaned over the gurney, giving his cheek a tiny peck. Then she straightened and looked down at him. “Would you like to know your name?”

“I’m...not sure.” The asset didn’t think he was ready to have a name. To be a person. He didn’t deserve it, either.

“Later perhaps.” She gestured beyond his gurney and the asset glanced in the indicated direction--he couldn’t move his neck yet. “That’s my godson. You remember him.”

“Yeah.” Tony looked so small and frail. And like a bruise personified.

“Then there’s a start.”

“He’s gonna be okay?”

Peggy looked at Tony again. “His life’s just changed a great deal, but yes. I believe so.” The asset was quiet, thinking of what that might mean. At least Tony was alive. And free from Hydra. “I’ll leave you to your rest.” Peggy touched his elbow and left. And the asset slept.

 

*

 

Tony wondered how long a person could possibly sleep. He felt like he’d been awake for days--at least hours. His godmother had explained to him some of what had happened. Tony thought she’d been bullshitting him at first. Then she showed him pictures of T.J. with Captain America. And his dad, back in the war. “Why didn’t he get any older?”

“Why don’t you ask him yourself?” Peggy suggested.

“Because he’s a butthead who won’t wake up. Also, I’m not speaking to him.”

Peggy nodded. “A mature response.” She left him with a stack of books and magazines. Tony read them all the first day. It was better than thinking.

The second day, they had a different visitor. Tony had dozed off reading a V.I. Warshawski novel only to find a little girl standing beside T.J.’s--no, Bucky Barnes’--hospital bed. Her copper hair was pulled back into a severe bun, and she wore a leotard, like she’d just come from gymnastics practice. “Who the hell are you?” Tony asked. Immediately, he had a sinking feeling he shouldn’t have asked. Maybe this was Bucky’s kid.

“I’m Number 4.” Holy crap, was she crying? “He’s a nice man. It’s not his fault.”

“Sure, kid. Not his fault.” Tony watched her bend over Bucky’s hand and rest her forehead on his wrist for a minute. Maybe it took a child’s tears to wake Snow White in this story, because Bucky opened his eyes and looked down at her. It seemed to take him a moment to focus. Then he said something in Russian, and the little girl answered. Suddenly they were speaking a mile a minute, and Tony was too tired to follow. They knew each other, that much was certain.

Why was Tony jealous of a little girl? He pretended to go back to reading. Maybe the little girl was Bucky’s kid. Maybe number 4 meant she was his fourth daughter. Jesus. Did he really want a relationship with a single father? Or worse--what if there was a Mrs. Barnes tucked away somewhere in Siberia? All of a sudden, Tony was feeling very depressed. So depressed, he didn’t even see the kid leave.

“Tony.” It was Bucky’s voice, but Tony refused to look over.

“Not sure if I’m still speaking to you, cupcake.”

“I’m sorry.” Tony peeped surreptitiously over the top of the magazine he wasn’t reading. Bucky looked so pathetic. And handsome. Tony was pretty sure you weren’t supposed to look handsome and like hell at the same time. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. Any of it.”

Tony put down his magazine. “It’s okay. I guess. You were brainwashed by evil Nazi scientists--at least that’s what Aunt Peggy thinks. And she’s usually right.”

Bucky tried to nod and winced in pain. “That’s true.”

“Does T.J. Hammond really exist, or is he all just a made-up persona for Hydra to spy on D.C.?”

“I’m not sure.” Bucky was looking at Tony intensely, like a sad puppy.

“Oh, for crying out--come here.” Tony grabbed the rail of Bucky’s bed and pulled him closer. “I’m not mad, okay? I mean, I am--but not at you.”

“You should be mad at me.”

“Look. Shut up, would you? I’m not finished.” Tony reached out and took Bucky’s hand. “Besides, how could I disappoint that sweet little girl by blaming her dad for blowing up my house and making everyone think I’m dead?”

Bucky looked confused, but he didn’t move his hand away. “Her dad?”

“You mean you’re not her dad?” Tony remembered what hope was.

Bucky snorted, and it was the closest Tony had seen him come to a laugh. “No.”

“Oh, thank god!” Tony slipped his fingers between Bucky’s, gripping his hand tightly.  

“Peggy’s team rescued her from the Red Room,” Bucky continued. “In Russia. We used to train together.”  

Now it was Tony’s turn to choke in disbelief. “You and that tiny little ballerina? What were you, her dance instructor?”

Bucky’s expression grew dark. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Okay. Fair enough.” Not dance lessons, then. Bucky seemed fine with their hands resting together like this. It made Tony feel...like everything was going to be okay. “So.” Tony looked sideways at Bucky. “What happens now?”

Bucky thought about it for a minute or two. Tony was almost sure he was building up the courage to come out with something romantic. “Now we keep a close watch on Howard. If he continues to work on the serum even without his notes, his life is in danger.”

“So what?” Tony said it without thinking. “He’s done a million reckless things in his life. He always seems to come out okay.”

“You weren’t the only one he was putting in danger by pushing ahead with Project: Rebirth.”

Tony didn’t know what to say. He’d been a Captain America fan for as long as he could remember; of course he knew what Project: Rebirth was. “No wonder he never shut up about Cap.” Then Tony processed the rest. “Wait! Is Mom in danger? Omygod, Jarvis. Ana. They think I’m dead. We have to tell them!”

“I wish we could tell Edwin.” Tony’s heart stopped. He hadn’t even seen Ana standing in the doorway. Tony’s arms flew open--even though it hurt to move--like a small child demanding to be picked up. Ana walked over and gripped his shoulders, pressing a kiss to Tony’s forehead. “Unfortunately, he’d tell your father, and all of Peggy’s work would be for nothing.”

“He wouldn’t!” Tony couldn’t tell if he was trying to convince her or himself.

“Edwin would never betray your father. Not even for you.” Ana smiled sadly, touching the tip of Tony’s nose.

 

*

 

The asset couldn’t tell if Tony had missed Mrs. Jarvis’ singed hair or the bandages on her hands. If he’d known she was in on the plan… “Why did you stab me?” Over and over and over...

Ana squared her shoulders. “Never touch a lady without her permission.” She glanced at Tony. “Remember that, Anthony.” Then she continued answering the asset’s question, “Also, I meant to clear out the rest of Howard’s safe. Who knows what those bastards have hold of now?”

“I’m sorry, ma’am. Really.” Assault was his go-to response. The asset didn’t think he could be cured of it.

Ana’s smile was like sunshine in the dim room. “If you keep saying you’re sorry for being an unwilling tool of an anti-semitic terrorist organization, I may have to pull your ear, young man.”

“Please. He’s like 80 years old.” Tony rolled his eyes at her.

“Do you honestly think that will stop me?” Ana gave Tony a sharp look.

“Trust me,” Tony told him. “You’d better do what she says. It really hurts.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The asset could do without more stabbing or ear-pulling.

“Now.” Ana reached into both their beds and put their hands one on top of the other. “Don’t you boys mind me. I just came to do a little brainstorming with your godmother.”

“Wait.” Tony’s jaw dropped. “Are you a secret agent, too?” Ana’s laugh was her only answer as she clacked out of the room in six inch heels. “I feel like my whole life has been a lie,” Tony said in wonder.

“Join the club.”  

 

*

 

When Tony looked over, the corner of Bucky’s mouth was drawn up in an ironic twist. It was almost a smile. Tony thought, with a little practice, it could be. “Will you be my dance instructor, too?” Tony could just picture it: he and Bucky Barnes, secret agents, their own private Howling Commando duo.

“Hell no,” Bucky said. “It’s my job to keep you safe. You’re not going anywhere near the action.” Tony pouted, his fantasy bubble burst. “You know what would probably really help your godmother?”

“What?” Tony was still sulking.

“Inventing tools to get her and her agents out of trouble.”

The wheels in Tony’s head began to turn. “Like Q in James Bond?” He could tell from Bucky’s expression he had no idea who that was. “Just. Trust me. He’s really cool by engineering geek standards.”

“I trust you,” Bucky said. And Tony wanted to kiss him.

“As soon as I’m out of this hospital bed…” Tony’s eyes narrowed with lust.

“We’ll go explore your new lab?”

“Wait. I have a lab here? Ana! Aunt Peggy! I need a wheelchair!” Maybe being dead wouldn’t be so bad.

“It’s okay. I got you.” As Bucky climbed off his gurney and walked over to scoop Tony out of bed, the smoking hot assassin’s hospital gown gaped open in the back. Tony thought he might even learn to love being dead.

 

_~Fin_


End file.
